


The Games

by insideabunker



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff, Hockey, Olympic Hockey, Olympics, Rivalry, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insideabunker/pseuds/insideabunker
Summary: Inspired by this year’s USWNT Gold Medal victory. An Olympic Hockey AU where Clarke is the Captain of the U.S. Women’s National team and Lexa is the new star goalie for team Canada





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

“Ow! Shit!” Clarke grimaced as the team trainer, Eric Jackson, wound a roll of plastic wrap around the ice bag shrouding her knee.

“Is the pain worse than normal?” The young man paused, peering suspiciously at the sweaty, miserable woman seated in front of him.  Clarke Griffin was not a model patient per se.  No one could accuse her of being a prima donna when it came to the bumps and bruises typical of a hockey player, but then again, she was never one to admit to an injury either.  The latter fact worried the trainer much more than the former.

[[MORE]]

She shook her head, jaw clenched. "No.  The ice is just cold is all."

Clarke closed her eyes.  Refusing to acknowledge the throbbing in her knee, she resigned herself to suffer through the uncomfortable rehabilitation measure in silence. 

"Clarke, playing through an injury is a young woman's game.  You've been at this for eight years now. You need to start being more cautious."

Jackson avoided his patient's gaze, though he could feel her withering gaze.  He heard her sigh and felt her shift uncomfortably as he adjusted the binding around her leg.

"I promise I'm fine. It's just a little overuse pain.  I swear I'd tell you if I thought I'd re-injured it."

Jackson stared down at the star athlete discerningly, weighing the truthfulness of her statement. One eyebrow rose, and he squinted skeptically.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

"Good," he nodded as he finished wrapping her leg, "because you can't lead a team from the bench, Captain Griffin."

Clarke growled, bright blue eyes rolling at the always gregarious gentleman.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves.  Coach Kane hasn't announced anything yet."

Jackson smirked, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"Come on Griffin; you're a shoe-in.  2014 NCHC Player of the Year. 2014 NCHC scoring champion, four First Team All-American selections, Bob Allen award recipient, five-time IIHF Women's World Championship medalist..."

He paused wiggling his eyebrows, "four of those medals being gold.  Plus, you're a two-time Olympic veteran, and..."

"And the slowest person from red line to red line, the second oldest by two years and the only person on this team to miss a full season of play due to injury. Kane is as likely to cut me as he is to pin a C on me."

Clarke finished the statement for him, looking discouragingly at her ice wrapped knee.  She heaved herself off the bench, groaning as she stood and made her way towards the training room door.  Jackson grabbed his medical supply bag, following hot on her heels, undeterred in his enthusiasm.

"You bounced back from what would probably have been a career-ending injury for anyone else.  You've dedicated yourself to this team beyond what any reasonable person would expect of you, and you've become a role model for every woman in this organization, not to mention countless young girls out there.  Stop being modest. Nobody deserves that C more than you do.  Coach Kane would be crazy not to give it to you."

Clarke continued down the hall towards the locker room, doing her best to cover her discomfort as she walked.

"Raven is just as talented, and she didn't miss the last IIHF appearance."

"Raven is a phenomenal player, but she's not a leader."

Clarke shot Jackson an annoyed glare, her objection to the statement evident.

"You're selling her short."

Jackson sighed.  "Okay, I agree that Raven has leadership qualities, but they are unrefined.  She's impulsive, and frankly, a little immature.  I'm sure she'd make a good captain, one day.  Right now though, everyone is looking to you for leadership.  You know it, I know it, and I'm telling you, Coach Kane knows it as well.

The two burst through the swinging doors that separated the women's locker room from the main hall and immediately descended into a scene of utter chaos.  Balled up wads of stick tape were being tossed back and forth in every direction and jets of icy cold liquid flew through the air, showering anyone within range.

"Take it back!"

Raven ducked, dodging an errant tape ball that had just been hurled her way and immediately retaliated by blasting her attacker, an already soaked Octavia, with spray from her water bottle.

"I take nothing back!"

Raven snatched her goalie stick off the floor and used it to deflect another tape ball.  The trash bounced directly into the annoyed face of Harper McIntyre, one of the team's defenseman.  

"Your brother is a first class hottie with a rockin' bod, Octavia. End of story."

Raven grinned maniacally at the younger girl. "Just out of curiosity, is Bellamy packing a pistol or a shotgun when it comes to his... You know."

She pointed towards her lower torso and winked, her merriment only increasing as she watched the rookie winger's face turn from pale pink to bright red.

Clarke rolled her eyes at the scene.  Teasing Octavia about her brother, Bellamy, the team's new assistant coach had become Raven's favorite pastime as of late.  The game always seemed to escalate into pandemonium if Clarke wasn't there to play mediator.

"On second thought, maybe I should just ask him myself."

"Ugh! You're so gross!"  Octavia grabbed a loose piece of locker room debris and lobbed it at Raven contemptuously.  Before the wadded-up garbage could find purchase, it was snatched out of the air by a furious looking Marcus Kane.

"Care to try again?"

All revelries immediately ceased.  As the realization of just how unamused Coach Kane looked dawned on the ladies, a dead silence fell over the room.  The women hurried to compose themselves, each one scrambling to resume their place in front of their ordained lockers.  A moment later, only Jackson and Clarke were left standing in the middle of the floor.

"Are you waiting for an invitation, Miss Griffin?" Coach Kane eyed the veteran forward, frowning as he waited for her to take the hint.

"No, sir."  Clarke hustled to her locker, taking great care not to betray any hint of her limp as she moved.

As soon as she took a seat, Kane turned to Jackson, clearing his throat.

"Mr. Jackson, if you wouldn't mind making yourself scarce for a moment, I need a word with my team."

Jackson nodded, hurrying back through the swinging doors, in no hurry to be on the receiving end of a Marcus Kane telling off.  The moment he was gone Kane's expression turned deadly serious.

"The walls have ears, ladies."

He folded his arms behind his back and began pacing slowly down the rows of lockers, eyeballing each player sternly.

"Nowhere is that truer than at the Olympic level.  When you ladies put on a Team USA jersey and step into the international spotlight, you do so as ambassadors of your home nation and role models to young women everywhere."

He turned, marching back in the other direction.

"One misconstrued comment, one joke taken out of context, and you besmirch the character of this team, and erode the good name of female athletes the world over."

He paused, shooting an annoyed glare at Raven Reyes, the team's starting goalie.

"Lewd and lascivious comments regarding teammates, coaches, and staff are unacceptable, and will not be tolerated.  Such behavior detracts from the esprit de corps we have worked so hard to cultivate, to say nothing of creating a climate of sexual misconduct that is beneath the dignity of this program."

Kane paced back to the middle of the locker room floor, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed the room.

"There exists no greater joy in life than making the game you love your profession, and make no mistake ladies, playing for Team USA is a profession.”

Kane stressed the last word, adding an extra sense of gravity to it.

"This arena is a workplace, and while you are here, you will conduct yourselves in a professional, respectful manner befitting the prestige of Team USA Hockey.  Which means..."

He swung his arms in front of him, rolling back on his heels as he crossed them over his chest.

"Check the grab ass at the door and save the details of your exploits for after hours."

He shot Raven, who was now staring at her feet bashfully, another stern glance.  Satisfied that he had made himself clear, Kane uncrossed his arms and began stomping off towards the coach's suite.  He paused as he passed Clarke, lingering just long enough to place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"My office, Griffin. Five minutes."

As soon as he'd left the locker room, the air filled with murmuring.  Clarke could hear fragmented bits of conversation, words like "cut" and "retired," though she did her best to ignore them as she pulled on her sweats.  A moment later, a shameful Raven extended a hand to her, helping her up from the bench.

"He could be making you captain."

"He could be sending me home."

"He's not.

Clarke stared at Raven, once her rival, now her oldest friend on the team.  She felt a pang of nostalgic as she remembered their first season together, nearly a decade ago.  Those days seemed like another lifetime now, a lifetime in which being too old or too slow would never become a reality.  Those had been the best years of Clarke's life, and whatever fate awaited her in Coach Kane's office, she was determined to remain stoic.

"Guess we're about to find out."

Without another word, she zipped up her hoodie and exited the locker room, afraid if she lingered her emotions would get the better of her.  Clarke's mind shifted into autopilot as she drifted down the long hallway toward the stairs that lead to the coach's suite.  Her heart beat faster as she climbed upwards.  Her palms sweated.  Her ears buzzed with white noise.  Her body trembled with the kind of nervous energy that was precipitated only by life-changing moments such as this one.

 

She barely registered passing through the small waiting area and into the back until her hand had wrapped around the polished knob on the entrance to Kane's office.  Suddenly, all Clarke could do was stare at the placard on the door.

"Marcus D. Kane - Head Coach”

Clarke remembered the staring at a similar placard years ago, one tacked to a rickety wooden door in an ice rink in Bemidji, Minnesota.  Back then, she'd felt like a tiny child cowering in front of the principal's office on her first day at a new school.  Eight years later, she and the grizzled head coach had built a comfortable rapport, a relationship grounded in mutual respect and admiration.  That fact didn't stop her from feeling anything but apprehensive every time she walked through the door of his office.

Clarke remained frozen, unable to get air into her lungs or move her hand.  She reckoned at least three minutes passed before she was able to regain her composure.

"Have some courage," she thought, critical of her timidity. "Take a breath, go in there and see what's going on."

Finally, she turned the handle, opened the door, and found herself staring directly into the piercing gaze of Marcus Kane.

"Have a seat, Clarke."

Coach Kane gestured to the spare chain on the other side of his immaculately kept desk.

Her nerves getting the better of her, Clarke crossed the room slowly.  She lowered herself into the chair as though it were a bed of nails; her hands clenched around armrests, her knuckles white.

"You wanted to talk to me, Coach?"

Kane pressed the tips of his fingers together in front of his face, creating a steeply.  He flexed them a few times before reaching for a small framed photograph on his desk, pushing it towards her.

"Remember this?"

Clarke stared at the scrawny blond teenager in the photograph, grinning like a maniac as she and a taller, olive-skinned girl waved tiny American flags from the cheap seats of a second-rate airline.  An annoyed Coach Kane looked on in mock embarrassment.

"Of course I do.  That was the day we left for Vancouver."

He nodded.  "Your first Olympics. You were the youngest player I'd ever selected; barely old enough to vote, let alone represent your country on the global stage."

Clarke nodded, running her fingers over the glass.  "I kept thinking you were going to change your mind."

"I almost did.”

Marcus held out his hand for the photograph and gave it a wistful look before placing back on the desk.

"Twice. The second time was right before the games. The board tried to convince me that taking someone so young would be a disaster."

"And the first?"

Kane hesitated, considering the question carefully.

"It was when I read the player profile the Olympic scouts sent me about you.  I took one look at your height and weight, and I almost discarded it right then and there.  I remember thinking that nobody your size could ever complete at such a high level."

Forever sensitive about her stature, the blonde tried not to be offended by his comment.

"What changed your mind?"

"Just before I closed your file, I saw where you came from."

"What is that? Some weird form of nepotism?"

Clarke furrowed her brow, skeptical that her always pragmatic coach would have considered her solely based on their mutual hometown.

Kane leaned over towards her, resting on his forearms.

"Did you know that no U.S. Olympic hockey team has ever won gold without a player from Warroad, Minnesota on the roster?"

"Is that true?"

He nodded.  "You come from one of the oldest and strongest hockey traditions in the world, Clarke.  As soon as I saw that you came from Warroad, I knew exactly the kind of player you were; unselfish, dedicated, indomitable. The type of skater who earns her spot, over and over again, every day.  I spend years trying to teach players that kind of hockey, but you... I never had to teach you. You were born into that tradition."

Kane's face finally lost some of its intensity.

"And if I hadn't been convinced to give you a look at that, I certainly would have been after I realized who your dad was."

The mention of her late father, Kane's former high school teammate, stirred conflicting emotions in Clarke.  Once upon a time, her memories of Jake had all been images of him teaching to shoot pucks in their driveway, or cheering her on during games. In the year since his death, new memories had begun to eclipse her time with him; memories of an empty spot in the stands, and of a house that had stopped feeling like home after his death.

"He'd be so proud of everything you've accomplished, Clarke.  I hope you know that."

She smiled, blushing a little as she stared at her feet.  "I know."

An awkward silence permeated the room as the two waited for the ghost of Jake to dissipate.  Finally, Kane leaned back in his chair, his face emotionless.

"The hardest part of my job is telling players when their time is up."

Clarke's jaw clenched, her head remaining down, unable to look her coach in the eyes.  Every muscle in her body tensed as she prepared for the crushing blow he was about to deliver.

"Eight years ago I took a chance on a scrawny kid from Northern Minnesota, and in eight years I haven't spent a single second regretting that decision.  You are, without a doubt, the hardest-working player I've ever had the privilege of coaching.  You are talented beyond question and selfless to a fault.  You've given more to this team than any coach could ever ask of a player, and you have done so enthusiastically and without complaint. When you tore your ACL, I worried that you might never put on skates again, let alone play another period of hockey.  You proved me wrong.  You battled back. You worked harder than ever to rehabilitate yourself. You learned to adapt, and reinvented the way you played the game. But..."

Clarke's eye screwed shut, and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. 

"I can't ignore the fact that you've slowed down.  You still have better on-ice vision, and a quicker stick than just about any player out there but, speed-wise, your metrics are down across the board."

Kane paused, staring across the desk at the player who he'd come to consider a kind of surrogate daughter.

"Clarke, please, look at me."

It required every ounce of her determination for Clarke to raise her head.  She clenched her bottom lip between her teeth, determined not to burst into tears.

"I think you and I both know that this will be your last Olympics."

It took more than a moment to process the statement, but when the weight of Kane's words finally dawned on her, Clarke's breath caught in her throat.

"Wait. If this is my last Olympics, then you're not.."

The corners of Kane's mouth twisted upward almost imperceptibly. It barely qualified, but it was a smile if you looked carefully.

"I need a leader, Griffin."

He fished something out of his pocket and, keeping it covered with his hand, slowly slid the item across the desk.

"No U.S. Olympic hockey team has ever won gold without a player from Warroad, Minnesota on the roster."

With that, Kane turned his hand over, revealing its contents.  There, clutched reverentially in his palm, was a captain's C.

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	2. Chapter 2

* * *

"I don't care how good she is, Mike, there's just no reason to take her. There are more than enough good tall guys out there, and it would be a strict disadvantage to put someone so small behind the net."  


In a cradle of loose netting behind the crossbar, a tiny transistor radio crackled to life, filling the frozen air with the staticky voices of commentators.  The sound echoed through the empty rink, followed by the sharp metal ding of a puck as it ricocheted off the goal post.

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"We gonna listen to that thing the whole fucking time?"

"It motivates me."

"To what, have an aneurysm?"

The crack of a slap shot rang out like a bullet from a gun, followed immediately by the hard thud of vulcanized rubber hitting leather at 80 miles an hour.

"Are you throwing softballs?"

Lincoln eyed the goalie skeptically.  "Why am I even shooting from the line? You should be working on close up stuff. The teams you're going to be playing will be focusing on dekes, tips, and wrists more than they will slap shots.  You need to work on reading the body."

"Pussy."

Another crack filled the area, another hollow thud as the puck was stopped mid-flight.

"That's more like it."

Lincoln scowled.  As irritating as she could be, there was no denying his friend's talent.  The problem was that Lexa would be the first one to the point that out, and it made the goaltender hard to bear, and on rare occasions, pretty tough to like.

The radio crackled to life again, the static fragmenting the voices as they droned on.

"Oh, come on!  Remember Enroth?  He was five foot eleven, and the fans up in Buffalo didn't seem to mind him."

"Enroth? Enroth!?  Mike, if you're going to use someone as an example at least pick someone who still plays in the NHL.  The last time I checked Enroth was sent packing to a KHL team in Belarus or some such place.  Meanwhile, Halak and Khudobin, the only goalies in the league I can think of that are under six feet tall, haven't started more than half the games in a season."

"Keith, I played with Gerry Cheevers, who is arguably one of the greatest goaltenders in history.  He had to have been no taller than five foot eleven, and a hundred and eighty pounds soaking wet.  Now, Woods is only one inch and five pounds smaller than that.  You cannot tell me that she can't compete at a professional level."

"Ok Mike, thousands of years ago, when you played, it wasn't uncommon to see a guy five foot ten or five foot eleven between the pipes.  And for the record, I'm not arguing that she can't play.  She's good. I've seen her play. I know she's good. She might even be better than good. My point is there's just no reason to take her in an era of giant goaltenders.  Right now, the average goalie in the NHL is six foot two, two hundred and ten pounds.  And that's just the average.  Ben Bishop is six foot seven, two hundred and sixteen pounds.  Why on earth would you bother taking this girl when there are guys like that out there? Does she have the chops for the NHL? Sure. Fine. But, why sign a small, average quality NHL prospect, when you've got guys playing at the same level who can also fill up the net like they're the Rock of Gibraltar?"

"Well, either way, her selection to the Canadian national team should make this Olympics an interesting one."

"One thing is for sure.  If this girl wants a shot at being selected to a professional team, there had better be a shiny, gold medal hanging around her neck at the end of the games.  I doubt any NHL team is going to sustain interest if she can't bring home gold when she's just playing against other women."

“Can we please turn that crap off,” Lincoln pleaded with her, his arms dangling at his sides as he kicked a puck into position for another shot."

“I don’t want to.” Lexa adjusting her footing as she waited for him to snap the puck.

“Dante's gonna be pissed when he hears you've been binge-listening to this crap again.”

“He won't,” she crouched low in the net, superstitious that the mere mention of the surly, wizened goalie coach might summon him to appear before her.

“It's gonna get into your head.”

“It won't,” she crouching lower still, dismissing the momentary ting of guilt at her dishonesty.

“Whatever you say.”

Lincoln wound back, his body twisting forward violently as he slapped the puck in her direction, full force.

Most people would have believed Lexa when she told them that the detractors and skeptics didn’t get to her, but not Lincoln. He had known her too intimately for far too long.  Lincoln knew when Lexa was lying to herself. When they were children, it had been easier to recognize, easier to see the hurt hidden behind the brave face. Now though, the cracks around the edges were almost imperceptible, and when the naysaying was at its worst, Lexa only doubled down on her cocksure bravado.  It was an act that had become so calculated, so much a part of her, that he doubted she could tell the difference between the facade and the emotional truth behind it.

On the rare occasions that Lexa's emotions did break the surface, they always came out convoluted, manifesting themselves as anger and aggression rather than hurt and disappointment.  There were times when Lincoln wanted to do more, say more to help her, but his oldest friend lived in abject fear of losing her competitive edge. Frustratingly, Lexa believed that it was her fury, rather than her natural talent alone, that continued to propel her forward. Lincoln knew that his words would fall on deaf ears.

“So you want me to bring it in close?”

“Nope.”

Lincoln sighed, kicking at a puck.

“Lex, the teams at the Olympics...”

“I'm not training to play the teams at the Olympics, Lincoln."

"Lexa..."

They're women, Lincoln!  I've been playing in the damn OHL for three years now.  Men's professional hockey is my reality.  The Olympic games are a distraction at best, and when they're over, I need to be playing at a level that's going to get me drafted out of here. Training for the women's game isn't going to help me with that."

"And training like you're about to play Zdeno Chara is going to lose you the gold!"

Lincoln sent a puck flying towards the stands in frustration. It barely missed the glass, making a terrible rattling sound as it shook the board.

"Lexa, just listen to me for once! You're minimizing how good these players are."

The hulking former defenseman skated over to his friend, pulling off his helmet and discarding it gently on ice as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"You're not wrong.  The women's game is different, but different doesn't mean worse, it doesn't mean unskilled.  These women play a different style of hockey, and all of them are extremely good at it.  Some of them are unbelievably good at it.  More importantly, because you've spent your entire career playing in all-male leagues, their style of hockey isn't one you've played before.  If you underestimate how hard it's going to be for you to adjust to that, you do so at your own peril."

Lexa sighed, pulling her goalie mask off. “I swear Lincoln; coaching women has gotten you soft.”

She winked, smirking at her already exacerbated friend. After a two year stint in the NHL, a catastrophic injury had realigned Lincoln's stars, setting him on a new path as the assistant coach of a collegiate women's team in Wisconsin.  His transition from rising playboy all-star to a champion of Title IX and female athletes was a sensitive matter, though he remained a good sport when it came to teasing.  She expected him to roll his eyes, groan, or perhaps playfully punch her in the arm.  Instead, he made Lexa jump as he threw his stick onto the ice, furious.

“Lexa! Can you just drop your fucking attitude for once?”

He skated away from her, his hands resting behind his head as he took a moment to cool off.

"You know… I get it. I grew up with you. I was there when you and those other girls petitioned to play in the boy’s league.  I saw how you were the only one left standing after years of harassment and abuse.  I've been with you every step of the way, so I understand how you ended up with the mindset you have, but you've got to get over this toxic masculinity shit! Somewhere, deep down inside of you, you still believe that you've gotten this far in spite of being a woman.  That belief is wrong, Lexa.  That thinking is your Achille's heel."

He turned back to her, rubbing his temples to soothe the headache form an afternoon of clenching his jaw.

"Those girls don't think that way.  I know you believe that if they were as good as you, they'd be playing in the men's leagues too, but you're wrong.  They didn't grow up where we did; they didn't have to walk that path.  They grew up playing in women's leagues, where nobody ever told them they weren't good enough.  They're not playing to prove anything to anyone."

He eyed her knowingly, an unspoken truth passing between them."

"If you shove it in their face that you think you're better than them because you play with men, they're going to use that attitude to humiliate you."

Lexa's face was red, her eyes fixed and furious.  She threw her goalie stick in Lincoln's general direction and tossed her glove and blocker down in disgust.

“I didn't even want to compete with these women! Playing for the stupid Olympic team was your idea; you and Dante!  I don't understand why the hell I'm supposed to learn some whole new style of play for something that's going to last all of three weeks!"

"Because it's a damn honor!"

Lincoln and Lexa both froze as the gravelly voice of Dante Wallace rumbled at them from across the ice.

"And would either of you care to tell me what you're doing here on a day that I specifically told you to take off?"

For a second, Lexa just watched her coach approaching, frozen in shock as though she were an eight-year-old who'd just been caught goofing off in practice. She was accustomed to her coach's frequent irritability, but this was a different mood altogether. The old salt was raging, his anger fueled by the audacity of his protege's defiance. Dante was the kind of man who refused to take insubordination lightly, and as he stomped towards them, fisherman's cap pulled low on his brow, unlit cigarette gripped between his gritted teeth, unshaven jaw clenched, Lexa knew she was about to catch hell.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

"Dante, I..."

Dante held up his hand, pointing directly at Lincoln as he continued to stare Lexa down.

"Don't you even start!"

He thrust his index finger in Lexa's direction.

"You want to practice? Fine, let's practice.  Suicides, go!"

Lexa remained frozen for a moment, trying in vain to process an excuse.

"Now!" He pointed at Lincoln.  "You too, blockhead!"  

The pair finally sprung into action, dashing off towards the closest line and hustling back towards the goal.

Dante watched his unfortunate trainees sprint towards center ice, already panting.  He muttered, pulling up the zipper on the ancient Red Wings Starter jacket he was never without.  He stood there, letting a full five minutes pass until the suffering athletes had begun to turn red and pour sweat before he launched into his lecture.

"You're a damn fool, Woods! Only a fool would underestimate their opponent to service their individual, selfish pride."

He chewed on the end of the unlit cigarette, shifting it from one side of his mouth to the other.

"You've been granted the privilege of representing your country because you're the best it has to offer, a paragon of true Olympic prowess, and like a jackass, you choose to squander that opportunity. Why? Because you don't like the stipulations?!"

He spat his cigarette out on the ice, finally blowing the whistle around his neck to give the go-ahead for Lexa and Lincoln to stop.  The two dropped to the ice, gasping for breath.

"Woods, you're one of the best goalies I've ever coached, you might even be the best. Right now, however, you could fit the number of people that believe that into a pee-wee locker room. This season is the last one you'll be eligible to play Major Junior, and if you're betting on those NHL scouts suddenly coming to their senses, you've got another thing coming."

Dante walked over to where the players were slumped over on the ice, still trying to catch their breaths.  He crouched directly in front of Lexa's face, staring her dead in the eye.

"Kid, you've spent the last three years playing for the worst team in Northern Ontario.  Nobody gives a rat's ass how good you are if they don't see you play.  You're invisible up here, and as long as you're invisible, the NHL can ignore you all they like.   Play net at the Olympics and you get to show the whole world what you can do.  Nobody will be able to ignore you after that.  That's why I insisted you play for the women's national team."

Dante stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his pants, and popping another cigarette into his mouth.

"Now get off my ice and go clean yourselves up.”  He paused looking over the pathetic, exhausted skaters with disdain.  "You two look like a damn soup sandwich."

With that, he trudged off, the scent of bay rum and stale Camel Straights lingering in his wake.

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	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Clarke groaned, scanning the list of room assignments she'd been placed in charge of the moment they'd landed.

"Did you see that they are giving out the most condoms ever at an Olympics this year?"  Raven smirked at her roommate, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Clarke sighed.  "Can you focus, please?  We still have to split up these room assignments so that we can do bed checks for Kane."

"I'm just saying!"  The Brunette girl bounced off her bed and wrapped her arms around the blonde's waist, leaning her head on her shoulder.  "You've been unbelievably stressed out for the past eight months.  Now that we're finally here, don't you think it might be useful for you to unwind a little?"

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She winked at her friend.  "You know... Before your head explodes is all. " Raven planted a sloppy, affectionate kiss on her best friend cheek and grabbed the list of room assignments.  "You go relax.  I can take care of this."

Clarke considered the offer for a moment, hesitant to leave the somewhat large responsibility of maintaining team accountability in the hands of her sometimes unreliable Assistant Captain.

"Raven..."

"Clarke, I got this!  Scouts honor."  The olive-skinned beauty held up two fingers for honesty, grinning.  "You need to decompress!"

"And how do you suggest I do that, pray tell?"

Raven shrugged.  "I don't know.  Have a beer.  Flirt with one of the Swedish snowboarders. Anything to take your mind off of all this pressure you're putting on yourself."  She smirked, "or you could just go find Bellamy's room."

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "That sounds more like your idea of a fun time than mine, Rae."

The goalie grabbed Clarke's jacket off the bed, shoving it into her hands as she swatted her on the butt and ushered her towards the door. "Just go! You need to get out of this room and clear your head.  Your angst is suffocating me!"

Raven pushed the captain unceremoniously into the hall, tossing her team hat and keys at her.  "Now, get going.  You only have two hours before curfew. Plenty of time!"

"But..."

Before Clarke could finish her thought, the door shut, leaving her standing in the hallway, no idea of how someone in her position was supposed to unwind.

* * *

"To be honest, I wish people would stop making such a spectacle of it."

Echo did her best to smile, despite the unsubtle traces of exasperation laced into her response to the reporter's question. "Everyone on this team has earned their place with talent and hard work. Lexa Woods is no different, regardless of the league from which she came to us."

The reporter smiled obnoxiously, adjusting the American Flag pin on the lapel of his blazer.  He furrowed his brow skeptically, unsatisfied with the Canadian Captain's answer.

"So, you don't think that the fact that Lexa woods has been playing in the men’s leagues for the past three years gives your team a major advantage?"

"Frankly, I think that emphasizing that fact only undermines the remarkable talent we have on this team." Echo frowned, losing her composure at the blatant bias of the statement.  "Now if you'll excuse me, it's been a long day of travel." She turned, striding off irritatedly in the direction of the hotel lobby.

As soon as they'd landed, the media had descended on the Canadian team like a legion of moths drawn to a flame.  Every news outlet in their general proximity had been eager to garner details about the team's reported strife regarding the addition of the new goalie. In the frenzy that followed, players had been caught in a crossfire of questions that were obtuse at best, and downright offensive at worst. By the time they had arrived at the Olympic Village, Lexa had been swept away by a mob of reporters, all of whom seemed more eager to discuss her Junior's career and draft prospects than her aspirations of genuinely contributing to the Olympic team.  For Echo Côté, the team's three-year captain, the spectacle of it all did nothing but pour salt into an open wound.

Infuriated at her ordeal with the reporter, Echo burst through her dorm room door, tossing her bag across the room and nearly hitting Gaia Freeman, her center forward in the face.  "They act like we're a bunch of underdogs that she just swooped in to save.  It's like everyone has forgotten that we've been the most dominant team in Olympic hockey for twenty years!"

She began pacing, her arms gesticulating wildly over her head as she articulated her point.  "If Niylah hadn't broken her damn leg Woods wouldn't even be here! I don't understand why we couldn't have put Emori in net and called up one of the collegiate prospects!"

Gaia sighed, preparing to hear the diatribe for perhaps the hundredth time in the past two months.

"Emori is going to be a great Olympic goalie, one day.  Right now though she's still young, and she wears down under too much pressure.  Besides, Niylah's injury happened two and a half months before the games.”

Gaia sighed, forcing the entire tidal volume of her lungs out through clenched teeth.  Typically, she was game for entertaining her captain's stressed out venting sessions, but Echo had been determined to hate Lexa Woods form the moment their coach had announced that she'd be filling in.  Frustrating prima donna though she was, the daily tirades cataloging the goalie's shortcomings were starting to wear thin.

“Realistically, none of our college prospects could have gotten up to speed on our system in that amount of time.  Woods has been playing continuously for the past year, and if I'm honest with you..." She paused.

"Don't say it."

"Echo, you can't deny that she's the best goalie we've ever had backing us up.  Niylah is fantastic, but Woods..."

"She's not that great!"

"We both know that's not true."

"She didn't earn the right to be here!  Everyone else had to work their ass off to earn a spot, and she was just given one on a gold plater, no questions asked!"

"You used to think the same thing about me!"

Echo groaned, remembering her skepticism when their coach had selected her daughter to the national team three years prior.

"That was different.  People were worried about nepotism, but you proved yourself at tryouts.  You kicked ass, and you've shown that you belong here every day since then.  You are a team player; she isn't.  You've heard how she talks in interviews. She doesn't even want to be here!"

"Well, I certainly don't after hearing that speech."

Gaia and Echo turned, realizing that in their haste to unpack they had left their door ajar.  Lexa stood in the entrance to their room, starring unenthusiastically at her team captain.

"You know, Echo, I got the feeling that you didn't like me but hearing it out loud certainly puts things into perspective."

Gaia froze, sure the two were about to pounce on one another.  "Lexa, she didn't mean..."

"I know very well what Echo meant, and she's right.  I'd much rather be back in Major Juniors then stuck in this tundra with her."

"Then why don't you go back there and stop draining moral from this team!"

“Because, you need a goalie who can get you through the medal round," Lexa sneered, taking a step forward into the room. "Or, did you think that you were going to coast through it on that weak ass wrist shot of yours?"

That did the trick.  In a single bound Echo had jumped over one of the double beds and was lunging for Lexa.  "You cu..."

"That's enough!"  

The heavy tenor of their coach's voice broke over them like a thunderclap from a summer storm.  It froze all present company in their tracks, bringing the sorry scene to a grinding halt.  Indra stepped into the room, immediately taking up all the space as she shut the door behind her.

"What on earth were you two thinking?"  She looked around, staring especially hard at Gaia.  "What if one of your younger teammates had seen you arguing like this?  What kind of example do you think that would set for them?"

Indra strode forward menacingly until she was millimeters from Echo's face.  She stared down at the now shameful looking center, her face a perfect blend of anger and disappointment.

"Côté, I selected you as my captain because of your experience and maturity.  If you can only offer me 50% of what I was bargaining for, then let me know, and I'll be happy to make other arrangements. Furthermore, take another swing at a teammate, and you'll be losing more than the C on your jersey."

"As for you..." Coach Freeman stared at Lexa now, her mouth set in a hard scowl.  "Outside."

With that, Indra grabbed Lexa by the shirt and dragged her from the suite, slamming the door behind them.

"Coach, Echo said..."

"I hear what she said. I also heard what you said, and I've got news for you, Woods."  She turned to stare Lexa dead in the eye.  "Olympics or not, I swear I will send you home if you keep up this attitude.  Whatever else you are, right now you're a member of the Canadian national team, which means that I don't care how good you are if you can't work as a member of this squad."

Indra leaned in closer still, driving the pointy end of a calloused index finger into Lexa's sternum for emphasis. "Get your head out of your ass and into the damn game, or I'll show you exactly how much your individual talent means to me."

Her point made, Indra glanced at her newest player and frowned, as though she'd sized her up and found her wanting. A moment later she strode away, huffing as she stalked down the hallway in pursuit of other players misbehaving.

"Head in the game, Woods. I mean it!"

Lexa was left standing alone and in shock, tail between her legs.  Not that she was used to mollycoddling by her coaches, but Indra had a way of cutting her down that left a mark.  Soon enough, however, her shock had turned to self-righteous anger.  After all, what was the point of her being yelled at when she'd merely been reacting to Echo's rant?

In her annoyance, Lexa found herself unable to entertain the prospect of finding her room and trying to sleep off her jet lag.  She needed space, she needed to clear her head, and that certainly wasn't going to happen in the tiny dorm room she'd been forced to share with a doe-eyed, 19-year-old left wing from Vancouver.  

With that in mind, Lexa found herself striding out the front doors of the high-rise housing facility and into the night, hitting the streets of Olympic Village with no destination in mind, save one that was far away from her teammates.  She wound through the concretes lanes, the cold wind biting at her face as she let the argument replay in her mind and seethed in frustration.

Lexa wasn't sure how long she had been wandering, but when she approached the small outdoor skating rink in the corner of the campus, she noticed that the streets had emptied, leaving her alone in the dark.  She made her way toward the bleachers, taking a seat and running a hand through the long, loose curls that cascaded down the back of the obnoxiously loud Team Canada parka she'd been forced to wear.

"Rough night?"

Lexa nearly jumped out of her skin at the raspy utterance behind her.  She spun in the direction of the voice, startled to find that it belonged to a tiny blonde huddled in the very top corner of the bleachers.

"I... What?"

The diminutive figure behind her huddled tighter against the chill of the night air, her arms wrapped around her knees for warmth.

"I asked if you were having a rough night.  You look stressed."

Lexa cocked an eyebrow, unsure why this person would care about her state of mind.

"Yeah, I guess."  She turned back towards the ice, annoyed at the realization that she didn't have the place to herself.

"Pre-game jitters?"

"Pre-game jitters are for people who aren't confident in their abilities."

The blonde laughed flatly.  "And here I was, thinking that all that ego was just for the sake of the reporters."

Lexa turned back to the girl, her interest peaked. "You know who I am?"  

The girl rolled her eyes as if entirely perturbed by the question.  "Your reputation precedes you."

"Really?"

She nodded.  "Who doesn't know Lexa Woods?   You're all the reporters can talk about right now."

Lexa smirked, despite herself, her frustration slipping away as she basked in the idea that she was newsworthy.  She was aware her inclusion on the Canadian Women's team had been controversial for many reasons; her semi-professional status in a men's major junior league among them, but she wasn't sure how much of that traction would hold into February.  She looked the girl over again, noticing for the first time how uncommonly attractive she was.  Strands of golden blonde hair fell loosely around smooth, fair skin, framing cheeks that had turned rosy from the cold.  The tiny mole above her plump, pink upper lip provided adorable imperfection to an otherwise flawless complexion, but the real draw was her eyes.  Even in the dark, the blue of them was piercing, like ocean waves breaking over a glacier.  They were electric, shocking, and full of warmth and charm.

Suddenly all thoughts of Lexa's earlier argument were gone, replaced by an entirely new distraction.  The goalie cleared her throat awkwardly, downshifting into her best impression of someone who was casually unaware of her relevance.  "Sorry, I didn't think I was big news to someone outside of the hockey world."

The blonde smiled coyly.  "Who says I'm outside of the hockey world?"

Lexa shrugged her broad shoulders, attempting to be as charming and nonchalant as she could manage.  "Well, I mean... Look at you. You're obviously not a hockey player."  Lexa gave her another once over, trying not to make it evident that she was ogling her.  "You're what, five three? Five four? Plus, you're pretty easy on the eyes.  Figure skater, I assume?"

In an instant, the blonde's face went from amused to annoyed, her brow furrowing as her face scrunched into a sneer.  "Are you kidding me?  Is that really how you talk to people?"

Lexa blanched a bit, unsure of what she'd done wrong.  "Sorry, did I say something..."

"I'm Clarke Griffin."

Lexa stared at her tensely, swallowing hard.  "Wait, your..."

"The captain of the U.S. women's hockey team."

"Oh, shit."

Clarke stood, staring down at the brunette contemptuously.  "Oh, shit is right."  She pulled down the red, white and blue knit cap she wore and zipped up her Navy Blue puffer jacket, stomping down the bleachers as she headed back in the direction of the housing.

Lexa was off the bleachers in an instant, following hot on the heels of the furious captain, as she wracked her brain for any excuse that could save her from causing an international incident before the games had even begun.

"Griffin! Wait!"  She jogged up behind her, her long legs covering the distance between them faster than Clarke could ditch her.

"Listen, I meant that stuff as a compliment."

"Body-shaming me for my size and reducing me to my looks is supposed to be a compliment?  Are you serious?"

Clarke glanced over her shoulder at the tall women trailing behind her, scowling.

"I didn't realize it was you.  I've only ever seen you in-game footage, with your helmet on."

"And that makes it ok to objectify me?”

"No, that's not what I meant.  I meant that..."  Lexa gnashed her teeth together, floundering for a better explanation.  “I mean you don't look like a typical hockey player, alright?  I mean, come on… You’re petite; you're pretty. You fit the profile of a figure skater. Is that so wrong for me to say?"

"It's not what you said; it's how you said it."

"Oh, what?  Are you offended because I pointed out that you are attractive," she paused. "Most women would be flattered by that."

"Wow!"  Clarke stopped dead in her tracks, snapping around. "You're seriously doubling down on the whole chauvinistic, enabled asshole thing, aren't you?"

Clarke's was unmistakably furious; jaw clenched, eyes bulging.  She took a step forward, gazing fearlessly at the taller girl in a way that was oddly intimidating to Lexa.

"You know, I thought people were exaggerating when they said that you were a self-aggrandizing ass who thinks too much of herself, but you're exactly as bad as everyone says you are."

Lexa held her composure, not wanting to betray her wounded pride at hearing that people had been talking behind her back.  None the less, the comment hit her in a sensitive spot, and she lashed out before she could stop herself.

"Well, you're as undersized as people say you are.  Look at you; it's no wonder you got injured playing Canada in the World Championship.  You're shouldn't even be on the ice at your size."

The captain's nostrils flared, her face turning beet red, as though steam were about to pour out of her ears.  "I don't need some overlooked juniors player with a swollen head and a slow glove hand telling me how big I need to be to play my sport!"

"Well, I don't need some dinosaur who's two years past her prime telling me how to behave!"

The comment was an insecurity seeking cruise missile, and it found its mark entirely too well, making Clarke see stars of rage.  Before she could stop herself, her hand was flying, palm first, towards Lexa's cheek.  A millisecond from making contact the slap was stopped, midair, as Lexa caught the furious woman's wrist in her a firm, confident grip.  The interception was so sudden that it threw Clarke off balance.  She fell forward into Lexa's lean, muscled frame, landing with a thud against her chest.

"Still think my glove hand is too slow?"

They froze, staring at one another, neither one backing down.  Suddenly, the tension was overwhelming, a mixture of anger and opposition and something less familiar.  Mixed in with the heat of the moment was a bizarre sense of libidinous that felt both terribly out of place and strangely imminent.  They remained, bodies pressed together, for a bit longer than necessary, eyes fixed and intense.

"Get off of me."  Clarke yanked her wrist from Lexa's grasp and stumbled backward, unsure why she suddenly felt short of breath.

Lexa peered down at her, shocked by the strange sensation that had run through her arm the moment she'd grabbed Clarke's wrist. It had sent shiver along her spine, and the feeling of it lingered on her fingertips.  She regained her composure a second later, her face falling.

"You should learn not to pick fights you can't finish."

"Who said I don't plan on finishing it?" 

The wind picked up then, and Clarke turned, marching slowly towards the lobby of the towering dormitory as she yelled over her shoulder.

"'I'll see you in seven days."

With that, Lexa was finally alone with her thoughts and an entirely new problem.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Despite Clarke's two prior trips to the winter games, the opening ceremony had lost none of its magic for her. The significance of it all still gave her first day of school butterflies, making her feel six years old again, awestruck and overwhelmed as she drifted through a sea of unfamiliar faces.  Red, white and blue-clad bodies shuffled past her, as the sprawling cluster of American athletes followed the Mongolian delegation through the tunnel leading onto the parade grounds of PyeongChang Olympic Stadium.  A colorful delegation of Bermudians trailed close behind them as they made their way into the open air of the parade grounds.  


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From its epicenter, the spectacle radiated with an intoxicating spirit that consumed the senses, filling Clarke with a nervous energy that eclipsed even the nastiness of the chilling wind that had picked up an hour earlier.  Exiting the darkened tunnel, she made her way into the multicolored splendor of the stadium; her thoughts immediately drowned out by the deafening roar of 35,000 cheering spectators.

It took a moment for her to process fully.  It seemed unbelievable that thousands of people had been willing to brave the sub-zero temperatures just to catch a glimpse of their Olympic champions, but as the enormity of that fact sank in, Clarke felt overwhelmed with a responsibility to them.  She forced herself to stare up into the stands, her face straining against the icy sting of the air as she smiled and waved towards the masses of fans.

"It feels like my eyeballs are going to explode," Raven growled through her forced smile.  "It's fricking cold!"

"Just keep smiling."  Clarke grinned at her assistant captain, her voice just as strained, as she flashed two rows of perfectly straight, snow white teeth.  "Millions of people are watching, Rae.  Don't spoil it for them."

* * *

"You can't be serious?"

"This has got to be a joke."

A chorus of complaints had erupted the second the Canadian athletes had learned their number in the ceremony's progression.

"We're sixty-ninth?"

"Oh g-d, as if these uniforms didn't make us look ridiculous enough."  Echo looked dour as she fiddled with her long red parka and knitted cap.

"I don't know," Lexa shrugged, forcing small talk to make nice with her captain.  "I mean the jackets aren't great, but some of the other stuff they gave us is ok."  She waited for Echo to respond but was met with steely silence.  "I mean, I like the flannels."

"Of course you do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"  Lexa tensed, wondering if she should be offended, and readying herself for an argument.

Echo only rolled her eyes, looking bothered.  "I didn't mean it that way," she spat. "I was referring to the fact that someone from the NWO would love that our uniform issue includes a Kenora Dinner Jacket."  She turned to Lexa, exasperated with the tall girl behind her.  "Obviously. I play women's ice hockey, Woods. You think I'm not used to teammates who enjoy the company of curvy, Swedish blondes with long legs?"

Echo shot her a knowing glance, noting the nervous, slightly guilty look on Lexa's face.  

"How do you know about that?"

"You're not exactly discrete. I saw you coming out of that Swede snowboarder's room this morning, half dressed."

Lexa swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing a subtle rosy color.  "Coach Freeman... You aren't going to?"

"Rat you out to her and get you kicked off the team?"  Echo dipped her head, cocking one eyebrow. "No, not for that. I may not like you, but you're hardly the first player on this team to dip their toes into international waters.  Besides, I have my own foreign diplomacy to conduct."  Echo shot a glance towards the crowd behind them, piquing Lexa's curiosity.

"What sport's she in, eh?"

Echo rolled her eyes.  "Woods, I'm not even a little bi-curious."  She stared far back in the procession.  "I've got my eyes on that scruffy, freestyle skier from France."

Lexa screwed up her face.  "Ugh... Typical Queeb, going for some priggish French ponce."

Echo shoved the girl behind her with an elbow.  "Toton."

"Beaver-beater."

"Lumberjack."

"Maudit sans-dessein."  Lexa fumbled through the only French Canadian swear she remembered from grammar school.

"It's pronounced dé-sa," Echo growled, drawing out the final A. G-d, your French is shit, Woods."

"I'm from northern Ontario!"

"T'es pas une lumiere!  Believe me, it's apparent."

In spite of their bickering, Lexa realized that the argument was probably the longest conversation they'd managed since she'd joined the team.  "Well, that's something," she thought to herself, thankful that they hadn't come to blows again.

Consumed as she was by their banter, Lexa lost her situational awareness, snapping out of it only when the world around her erupted into flashing lights and noise.  They'd finally reached the inside of the stadium. The freezing night air hit her in the face, and her breath caught.  Lexa's eyes strained against the bright lights and icy wind as she stared up at row after row of waving fans, and did her best to wave back.

The wind picked up again, making Lexa's eyes sting and tear. The goalie shielded her brow from the cold, wiping them with the back of a gloved hand and doing her best not to smear the makeup, applied for the sake of the cameras.  She checked the back of her mitten for smudges of mascara and, happy to find none, peered into the crowd in front of her.  For a split second, the column of bodies parted just enough for a small figure became visible up ahead.  Lexa caught a brief glimpse of golden hair and azure eyes before the crowd swelled again, and the American captain disappeared amidst a sea of taller, more substantial bodies.

"I think I saw the Team USA captain up ahead."  She turned to Echo, hoping to coax a little more conversation out of her.

"What, Clarke Griffin?  I would doubt it unless she's being carried on somebody's shoulders."

Lexa smirked.  "Yeah, she was pretty tiny in person."

"You've met?"

"Just the other night, in passing.  She seemed..."

"Like an irritating homunculus?"  Echo continued to scan the crowd for her Frenchman.  "That girl had been a pain in my ass for years."  She stared at Lexa for a moment, her expression concerned.  "You didn't notice if she was limping, did you?

"I don't think so." The question seemed odd, but Lexa thought it over, none the less. "I mean not that I could tell at least.  Why?"

Echo turned back towards the procession, her expression unreadable.  "We were playing an exposition game about a year and a half ago.  Griffin had been a menace all night, picking up the puck before I could get to it at the point and forcing it back into our zone. She's small, but she lighting fast."  She paused.  "Well, she was. Anyway..."

Something about the story made Lexa feel immediately uneasy.

"Third period, I finally caught her heading up the boards on a breakout.  I was going to try and pick her off, but she veered towards center ice at the last second.  My leg was out, and I ended up catching her at the knee."

"You went knee to knee?"

"I told you, she veered at the last second.  I was trying to play the body the best I could."  Echo bit her lip. "I might have let my leg drift out a bit far to try and knock her stick off the puck..."

She glanced at Lexa for a moment, her expression barely hiding the guilty conscience of someone who knew their actions had been less than defensible.

"But, I didn't intentionally cheap shot her."  She grimaced.  "Anyway, I felt her leg bend back in the wrong direction, and she flipped, ass over teakettle across my thigh.  The second she hit the ice I could tell it was bad.  I've never heard someone scream that hard."

Lexa's stomach sank just thinking about it. In hockey, a knee to knee collision often resulted in injuries of the most devastating kind.  That exact scenario had ended many a career before its time, and it made the goalie cringe thinking about the tiny blonde girl writhing in pain on the ice.

"MCL sprain?"

Echo shook her head.  "ACL. Grade three at that, a complete tear."

"Holy hell."

"Yeah, honestly I'm surprised to see her back on skates at all."

"So, that's why she looked so sluggish in the game footage we watched."

Echo nodded.  "To be sure.  I genuinely thought she'd retire after that.  I mean, she'd been playing for the national team since she was seventeen, so she was already getting up there."

They rounded the corner and slowed to an abrupt halt, nearly crashing into the Kenyan athletes ahead of them.

"That footage was from just after she was cleared to start training again.  I hear she's gotten some of her speed back since then, but if you ask me, she shouldn't even be playing."

Lexa's jaw tensed at the utterance, a conviction that her Québécoise teammate seemed to hold frequently.  "You seem to think that of a lot of people."

Echo sighed.  "I mean because of the risk of re-injury. Not everything is about you, Woods."

With that, Echo pushed forward, disappearing amongst the shuffling mass of red and black jackets.  

* * *

The ceremony had ended in a spectacle of blaring music and bursting fireworks, that latter of which still rang in Clarke's ears as her feet pounded against the whirring belt of the treadmill. Hours after the lights had dimmed in Olympic stadium she was still wide awake, to filled with excitement, and too unaccustomed to the fifteen-hour time difference to sleep.  In her restlessness, Clarke turned to the one standby that faithfully calmed her down when pressure and anticipation turned her into a live wire of nervous energy.

She leaned forward into a sprint, increasing the incline on the Cybex another three degrees and watching as her numbers climbed.  Time: 48:36:23, Speed: 9, Incline: 10, Heart Rate: 184.  Perspiration poured from her brow, matting stray bits of flyaway hair to her forehead.  Clarke's burned, her legs ached, and her heart pounded in her chest as she continued to increase the incline.  Up, up, up until her hands flew to the bars to keep herself from flying backward off the machine.  Just as she felt her body about give out, she punched the large red button in the center of the display, cutting the power and hopping off in a flash, careful to land with her weight on her good knee.

Fighting the urge to double over and gasp for air, she threw her hands behind her head, lacing the fingers together and forcing herself to continue taking deep, measured breaths as she paced around the room.  Clarke closed her eyes and waited for her heart rate to slow, relishing the way her muscles ached and trembled with exhaustion. She wiped the sweat from her temples with the back of her hands realizing how utterly drenched she was.

After a week of buildup to the opening ceremony, fifty minutes of alone time had provided her with some much need respite from the hum of the crowds, the strings of interviews, and the exhaustion of the reassuring pep talks her more novice teammates had needed on a near constant basis.  Save for an unseen weightlifter banging heavy metal plates around in another corner of the complex; the nearly empty gym had provided the forward with a silent sanctuary from the turmoil of her otherwise overwhelming week.  For Clarke, there was nothing like a long, grueling run to clear her mind and ease her tension, and after an hour of beating herself down, she was finally feeling relaxed and ready to sleep. 

Not before a shower though, Clarke thought as the smell of her sweat drenching clothing suddenly filled her nostrils.  She peeled off her soaked Under Armour shirt and shivered as the chill of drafty gym air hit her flushed skin, giving her goosebumps.  Back inside the women's locker room, she made quick work of discarding her soggy PT gear in her sports duffle, sliding her feet into flip-flops as she wrapped herself in a towel and headed for the open shower bay.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the empty shower bay, covered from top to bottom in polished white tiles.  Despite a career of dressing and undressing in front of teammates, Clarke had never been entirely comfortable with public nudity, though it wasn't the sight of others naked that unsettled her so much as it was her insecurities about her own body.  A lifetime of struggling with her weight, first baby fat and then added curves, had made her shy to the point of timidity.  Unlike Raven, who was a walking human hanger and had posed naked for ESPN The Magazine's body issue, Clarke grappled with body confidence. She struggled to dress for the formal events the team attended, balking at the idea of being stuffed into a dress that accentuated her cleavage and hips. Unfailingly, the captain elected for more conservative numbers, downplaying her appearance as much as possible in the hopes that she could fly under the radar and not tempt the press into present her in an overly sexualized light.  The tactic had worked for the most part, though comments about her looks did surface, every now and again, internet trolls be damned.

Clarke turned on one of the shower heads lining the wall and let it run until the water turned warm.  She discarded her towel on a nearby hook, stepped into the stream and closing her eyes as the warm liquid poured over her aching muscles.  The blonde let it pound against her skin, relaxing her even further until finally, her exhaustion caught up with her.  She yawned, running a hand through her matted mane as she pulled out the elastic that had pinned it haphazardly to the top of her head. She let it cascade over her face and filled her hand with shampoo, massaging it into her scalp.

The sound of another shower head bursting to life nearby startled Clarke out of her euphoria. She pushed her soapy hair out of her face, freezing the second she saw who occupied the spot two places down. Lexa Woods stood less than ten feet from her, eyes closed, face turned up into the steady stream of water cascading over her body.  Clarke's eyes were fixed, unable to look away for the physical specimen beside of her.  Even in a parka and jeans Lexa cut an imposing figure, but bare to the world, the goalie was physically alarming.

She was tall to be sure, 5'11 if she was an inch, but what was more startling was the sheer amount of muscle that hung on her frame.  Every inch of her was ropey sinewed flesh that, somewhat surprisingly, held a subtle softness to it.  Clarke watched as beads of liquid slide down Lexa's olive-skin, slipping over her curves and pooling at every angle on her frame. The water clung to the tawny girl like it was heartbroken at the thought of having to drip off of her.

Clarke ignored the way her pulse quickened, and her breathing slowed, too captivated by the way the impressive musculature moved, stirring underneath a visage adorned with intricate tattoos that shifted as though they were alive.  A combination of body writing and black and red abstracts covered half her back, running over her shoulder and snaking down the full length of her left arm. The outside of her right thigh was similarly ornamented.  The edges of the artwork wound up her hip and caressed her waist before ending just above her perfectly toned backside, which Clarke realize she was gawking at a moment too late.

"What the fuck?!"

Clarke jumped, so alarmed by the green eyes staring her down that she couldn't reply. 

"Were you just staring at my ass?"

"What? No! I mean, yes but..."

"Yes, or no?"

"I was staring at your tattoos."

"The one right over my ass?"

"I wasn't staring at your ass!"

Lexa turned to face the smaller woman, her figure even more flawless from the front.  Small but firm breasts sat high on her chest, perfect and round, and the lines on her tight stomach were sculpted into a frustratingly well-defined six-pack.

"You get a good look?"

"I wasn't staring." Clarke felt herself blushing as she turned back into the jet of water pouring over her, and rushed to work the remaining shampoo out of her hair.

Lexa leaned into the tiles, propping herself up on a tattooed forearm.  She pushed the brown hair out of her eyes and slicked water from her face.

"You're full of crap, Griffin. Admit it; you were staring at me."

"I wasn't staring!" Clarke venture a quick glance at the goalie, too embarrassed to look for more than a moment.  "I wouldn't ogle someone in a public shower. That kind of behavior is abdominal."

Lexa smirked at the Freudian slip, cocking an eyebrow smugly.

"Abominable. Shit!"  Clarke screwed her eyes shut, sure that her face was now bright red.  "Besides why would I be staring at you."

"For the same reasons lots of girls do," Lexa wiggled her eyebrows, turning back to the water as she lathered herself with soap.  "You think you're the first person to stare at me in a shower?"

Clarke growled as she rinsed the last of the soap from her face.  "G-d, you're so completely egotistical!"  She shut off the water, wrapping herself in her towel as she retreated from the shower bay.

Lexa rinsed off quickly, grabbing her towel as she followed Clarke toward the lockers.

"And you're a hypocrite! You tear into me with some big feminist speech when I try to pay you a compliment, but when I catch you creeping on me, you act all innocent.  What garbage!"

 

"I wasn't staring at you!"

In the middle of the argument, Clarke became aware of how exposed they still were. Her towel clung to her precariously, barely covering her unmentionables, while Lexa's dangled from her hand, unused. She realized she was staring at Lexa's abs again and clenched her teeth, sure that that fact hadn't escaped the brunette's attention.

"Would you put on some clothes, please."

Lexa leaned forward, grinning conceitedly. "You sure that's what you want?"

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look the girl hovering over her in the eyes. "I'm not interested, Woods."

“In anything other than my ass, you mean?

"I was... I'm not... Your Tat... Ugh!"  Clarke grabbed her sports duffle, clinging to the last shred of her dignity as she forwent undergarments and scrambled to pull on her team sweats as quickly as humanly possible.  She yanked her socks halfway up, making a slapdash effort to shove her feet into her Adidas.

"I'm not having this argument with you, Woods!  I have bed checks to do."

"Sounds good. Mine is in room 704B."

Lexa heard the exasperated groan all the way down the hall as Clarke stomped out of the room, failing to notice that her sneakers were on the wrong feet.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

_"A mere five days since the opening ceremony here at the Pyeongchang Winter Olympics, and already athletes from around the world have astounded us with seemingly superhuman feats of strength and skill."_

The television screen flickered and gleamed, illuminating the faces in the darkened lounge in an ethereal blue glow.  From ever couch and chair, athletes watched as the clips flashed past on the screen, searching for their faces among the event highlights.

"There I am!"  A 16-year-old from Quebec pointed eagerly at the screen where a clip played of a tiny snowboarder, flying over the side of a halfpipe as he grabbed the front of his board and spun in the air.

_"There's been no shortage of heartbreak either, with several heavily favored athletes going home empty-handed in their final Olympics."_

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A scruffy Luger in the front row of couches sighed, watching himself cross the finish line a tenth of a second shy of a medal.  A shaggy-haired skier just behind him placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Your run was still a beauty Sammy. No shame in that."

_"Here at the Coastal Cluster in Gangneung, South Korea, all attention seems focused on the highly anticipated preliminary matchup between the U.S. and Canadian women's hockey teams."_

In an armchair in the back of the room, Lexa shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  Try as she might, it had been impossible to drown out the media's furor over the upcoming game.  All week long, the predictions and opinions of commentators had been buzzing in her ears like a million tiny mosquitos, refusing to be silenced and impossible to swat away.

_"The two powerhouses meet tomorrow, in a contest which is sure to incite pure pandemonium among spectators.  Both teams are overflowing with talent and likely candidates for Olympic medals.  Who will leave PyeongChang with Gold, however, is perhaps the most hotly contested subject of this Olympics.  For predictions on that subject, we turn to longtime Olympic hockey commentator Liam McHugh.  Liam, welcome to the show."_

_"Thank you, Jim.  It's nice to be here again."_

_"Liam, I'd like to get right down to it.  What do you think the significance of this preliminary game is?"_

_"Well, Jim, I suspect that it will set a precedent for the level of play we're going to see going forward into the medal rounds.  Among the competitors in PyeongChang, there's a sense that any team looking to win gold needs to go through the U.S. or Canada.  Frankly, no two teams go at it harder than these two, so if they kick it up a few notches during this game, I suspect that’s where the effort will stay throughout the medal round.  It should make for some very exciting hockey._

_"What do you think the chances are that we'll see a repeat of the U.S. vs. Canada final from Sochi?"_

_"I'd say the odds are pretty good.  Since women's hockey was introduced in 1998, there has only been one Olympics in which the U.S. and Canada haven't ended up fighting one another for the gold medal."_

_"That was Turin?"_

_"Yes, in 2006.  Now, when you look at this on an international play level, ranking aside, it's construable that either team is the most dominant women's program in the world.  Canada has a slight lead regarding numbers, ten IIHF titles to the United States eight, but of those World Championships, the United States has won the past four._

_"Liam, it sounds like there's a but in there."_

_"But... As far as Olympic Hockey goes there is no question; Canada's been the reigning powerhouse for some time.  In twenty years of Women's Olympic Ice Hockey, Canada has won gold in four out of the five games.  The U.S. hasn't stood at the top of the medals podium since 1998, and frankly, if they lose tomorrow's game, it isn’t likely they will this year either._

_"You don't think that a preliminary defeat will get the American's fired up even harder?"_

_"I doubt it, Jim. So far the United States managed a two-point victory over Finland and beat the Olympic Athletes from Russia, handily, six to one.  As for Canada, they've had shutouts in their first two, thanks to this new goalie of theirs.  But, neither one has been put through the paces the way you'd want building up to a contest like tomorrow's matchup.  I think the shift in play from low to high gear is going to come as a wake-up call for both teams, and if the U.S. loses, it would significantly bolster team Canada's considerable confidence going into the medal round. That doesn't mean that Team USA is guaranteed a loss in the medal round, but it would create a significant psychological obstacle._

_"So what you're saying is, the American girls have a game to win if they want to stay competitive."_

_"Well, at the very least they need to make it a close one.  If Canada forces another scoreless game, it's going to make their seemingly unbeatable defense that much more of a challenge from here on out.  The U.S. could overcome a loss tomorrow if, at the very least, they manage to break Lexa Woods' shutout streak.  In my opinion, everything hinges on that."_

_"Speaking of Lexa Woods, we managed to get a brief interview with the phenom yesterday after Canada's victory over Finland."_

The picture changed again, and Lexa cringed as she saw herself onscreen, goalie mask tucked under her arm, her brow pouring sweat, her face red and splotchy from overexertion, her hair a tangled mess of brown rat's nests.  She squinted into the camera light, awkwardly attempting to push matted, sweaty locks out of her eyes with the back of her arm.

_"So, two shutouts so far. How does that feel?"_

_"Um... Good, I guess."_

_"Are you surprised?"_

_"Not really.  I transitioned to the national team from the OHL, so I'm used to a style of play that's a bit more fast paced if I'm being honest; certainly more physical. I think that gives me an advantage that makes shutouts more likely at this level."_

_"And I'm sure that your team's defensemen have contributed significantly to that success. Wouldn't you say?"  The reporter subtly attempted to lead the goalie towards a more egalitarian breakdown of team Canada's success, smiling as she held the mic closer._

_"Oh, yeah. I mean, they've definitely contributed."_

Lexa cringed as she listened to herself, realizing that she sounded more than a little cocksure.  She was confident that if any of her teammates were watching, she'd catch hell later.

"What an ass."  Lexa heard a speed skater a few rows up whisper to the curler next to him.  She scowled, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up a bit further to hide her face.  People could talk about her if they liked. She was more than used to it.

A body settled into the next chair over, nudging her in the side as an arm extended, offering her a bag full of popcorn.

"Echo's been pretty strong on the back-check. You couldn't have been a little more generous about her performance?"  Lincoln smirked, leaning in and cocking an eyebrow quizzically.

"I panicked! You know I'm terrible at interviews."

Under his breath, Lincoln let out a low "Humph," in agreement.  "Well, I hope your terrible interview demeanor doesn't get you in hot water with your teammates."

Lexa shrunk down in her chair, crossing her arms as she cast a sullen glance in Lincoln's direction.  "I doubt they could dislike me any more than they already do.  They're all off together watching the Men's halfpipe qualifiers."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"Because they got tickets and didn't tell me." She crossed her arms, sinking even further into the armchair.

"So... things not going so well, eh?" Lincoln bit his lip hesitantly. Never quite sure how to handle his childhood friend when she was in the mood to sulk and feel sorry for herself.

Lexa frowned. "Obviously not."  She furrowed her brow, seething at the frustratingly amused look on Lincoln's face.  "How did you get in here anyway?  I thought you were supposed to be at your hotel with Dante?"

Lincoln held up an all-access visitors pass, turning his attention back to the flat screen, where commentators were still discussing the game.

_"Well Jim, I think the primary difference is the team dynamics. Canada has been relying heavily on the individual skills of their players, but all of those players are extraordinarily good at what they do, and nearly all are Olympic veterans.  Team USA has fewer seasoned players, but on the other hand, they play seamlessly together.  Their system and team dynamics are terrific, their coaching staff is outstanding, and their current on-ice leadership is, in my opinion, phenomenal._

_"Speaking of that leadership, we were able to catch Team USA's Captain, Clarke Griffin, earlier today for a quick interview."_

_Clarke appeared on screen, looking frustratingly natural on camera as she stood outside the dorms of the Olympic Village in the falling snow. She rubbed her irritatingly well-formed button nose, bright red from the chill of the frigid air, with the back of a mitten-clad hand, cupping her face politely as she let out an absurdly dainty sneeze.  The whole scene only made her seem even more infuriatingly charming than she already did._

_"So, how do you feel going into your game with the Canadian team?"_

_“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit anxious to play one of the best teams in the world, but having said that, I am so confident in my team that it makes it hard to be too nervous.  There's an old expression that I think sums my feeling up well.  'If you want to be number one, you have to train like you are number two.'  That's really where our mindset has been since the Sochi games, and in particular for the past year.  Every woman on team USA has given 100% and thrown everything she has into preparing for this moment.  We trained to be the best, and we trained to beat the best, and I think that's what people are going to see tomorrow."_

"Gotta say, she's pretty hot, ya know?"

"Do you have something useful to add?"  Lexa stared at him skeptically.

_"And what do you think about the hype surrounding Canada's goalie, Lexa Woods?  How do you feel about going up against someone who's been playing primarily in men's leagues?  Do you think that has given Canada an unfair advantage?"_

_Lexa bit the inside of her cheek, anxiously waiting for the subtle prejudice of the question to creep under Clarke's skin, making her come unglued on camera.  She watched as the blonde paused, calm on the surface, though her irritation showed around the edges.  For half a minute Clarke remained silent._

_"You know."  She paused briefly to tuck a few strands of golden hair behind her ear.  "A lot of people have been talking about this recently, and the truth is I'm not sure it's a useful discussion to be having."_

_The reporter leaned in curiously. "Can you elaborate on that."_

_"Sure, I mean... Every time this gets brought up it seems to unravel into a discussion of physical differences and biology and what women can and can't do as well compared to men.  Honestly, I wonder if we're not asking the wrong question altogether."_

_"What question should we be asking?"_

_"Well, for starters, we should be asking why women's abilities are always defined by their approximation to men's.  Why do we have to appraise women's skills and talents by saying that they are "strong for a girl," or "as good as a man?"  I don't think that is useful to anyone.  I mean women and men are different.  Obviously, we're different.  In the same way that we solve problems and communicate differently, women and men play hockey differently.  Different doesn't mean worse; it just means different.  We play our own game. We play it with skill, and with passion and every woman here is phenomenal at what she does. If that's not enough for fans, then they're welcome to watch the men’s game instead.”_

Lexa leaned forward, watching as Clarke paused again.  She took a deep breath to help maintain her calm, smooth demeanor.  

_"More importantly, to suggest that Lexa Woods is a remarkable goalie because she's been playing with men is to more or less give men credit for her talent. That is misguided. Lexa Woods is an extraordinary goalie because she has extraordinary ability and, from what I hear, she works her ass off.  That, thus far, she's been able to keep up in this new arena only means that's she's that much more versatile.  Frankly, I would have suspected that a men's goalie would have struggled to adjust switching to the women's game."_

_"Well, Lexa Woods sure hasn't been struggling so far.  In fact, she's just recorded her second NGA performance against Russia.  When we spoke to her earlier today she seemed confident that she could stretch that shutout streak to three."_

Clarke laughed bitterly, piquing the reporter's interest.

_"Uh-oh, sounds like we've got a little bit of a rivalry in the works here."_

_"I mean, so far Canada has played Finland and Russia, and while both are great teams defensively, they've also lost some critical offensive players in the past few years.  Moreover, Canada has defensemen like Echo Cote who, despite our history, is in my opinion, one of the best defensive players in the world. I think that she has contributed as much as Lexa Woods has to those shutouts."_

Lincoln elbowed Lexa in the ribs.  "See, she talks about the team as a whole.  She gets it."

Lexa scowled at him, sticking out her tongue.

_"As far as Team USA goes, we play effective two-way hockey, and we've got some unbelievably good young forwards. I don't think Lexa Woods has had to contend with a strong offense yet. Woods seems to favor a stand-up style of goaltending that's effective against screening and shots from the point, but I don't think she'd used to having players crashed the net as hard as we do.  I guess we'll have to see how she handles herself."_

Lexa frowned, pushing herself out of her chair in disgust.  "We'll see alright."

Lincoln shook his head, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he watched Lexa trudge out of the room in a huff. 

It was rare for a competitor's comments to bother Lexa as much as this Griffin women’s seemed to.  Whatever it was about her, the American Captain certainly rattled Lexa's cage in a way few others had managed.

* * *

"Two minutes to go here in the third period and we've got a real nail-biter on our hand’s folks, with Canada leading the U.S. 1-0."

A Canadian defenseman slid the puck out to the point, where it was picked up by Echo.

"Côté drifts into the slot.  She winds up, shoots, and..." The announcer paused as the shot whizzed through the air.  "Save! It's a brilliant glove save by Raven Reyes.  She saw that one coming from a mile away, ladies and gentleman."

Fog filled the air as the panting players crouched around the face-off circle, steam rising from their bodies as they waited for the puck to drop out of the referee's hand.  It hit the ice with a hollow thud, and the rink once again erupted into a chaotic confusion of colliding bodies.  The crunching of skates as they cut through the ice was deafening with the forwards fighting for an opening.  Clarke snagged the puck and sent it gliding over to Harper who made a sharp cut behind the net, eyes trained piercingly on Octavia, already cutting towards the boards, ready for a pass.  The puck sailed across the ice with precision, landing deftly on the left wing's stick just in time for her to slip past a hulking defenseman.  The freshman forward flew across the neutral zone like a lightning bolt, Canada's players hot on her trail.  She crossed the blue line alone, dropping low in the slot and cutting right at the last minute to try and sneak a backhand by the Canadian goalie.

The slap of vulcanized rubber hitting wood filled the arena as the puck deflected off her stick.  Lexa dropped to her knees, covering it with a gloved hand as she waited for the whistle to sound. Three sharp blasts signaled a stoppage in gameplay, much to Lexa's great relief.  She watched as Echo skated towards her casually, smirking at her through her face cage.

"You just gave them a face-off in our zone with a minute and a half left in the game. Wait to go, Woods."

Lexa pulled off her goalie mask and slammed it down on top of the net.  She desperately grabbed at the water bottle that hung in the loose mesh, using it to wet down her sweat soaked face.

"Seriously, Côté?  I wouldn't have had to force a whistle if you'd been here five seconds ago!  You've been dragging ass on the back-check all night, and I can barely get help in front of the net when they've got the puck in our zone.  What the hell is wrong with all of you?"

Echo narrowed her eyes at the goalie, leaning on the goal post as she bent forward, sneering.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  Are we not contributing enough for you?"

Lexa's eyes nearly popped out of her head.  She threw her water bottle back into the netting and surged forward, pushing Echo away from the goal.  "Are you fucking kidding me right now?!  Is that why I've taken 47 shots to Reyes’ 29?"

She spat water onto the ice, inching forward as though she was ready to pummel her towering defenseman.  "You're fucking letting them take shots on me to teach me a lesson?"

Echo winked at her contemptuously, turning Lexa’s face crimson.

"How's that working out for you, Woods?"

"I'll tell you when I finish this shutout!"

Before Lexa could completely lose her temper, a referee intervened, skating between the two women and eyeballing them suspiciously.

"That's enough squabbling ladies.  We've got a face-off.”

Echo nodded at the man, pausing just long enough before he fell back into position to give Lexa a final derisive glare.

"Do your job Côté!" Lexa yelled at her retreating teammate, pulling her face mask back on and crouched between the pipes.

The puck dropped, and a wall of bodies smashed into each other once more, a symphony of slashing and crunching filling the air as both teams dug in and fought for ownership.  Finally, Gaia managed to knock the puck back to Echo, who sailed around the goal and sent it shooting out to a forward along the boards.

The players shifted across the ice as each one pursued the puck carrier into the American zone.  The forward went low, flipping around at the red line and banking a shot off the boards to her defenseman.  The crack of a slap-shot rang out, followed by the ping of metal as the puck ricocheted off the goal post and went careening into the sea of players clustered in front of the net.  It was knocked loose by a skate, sliding into the corner as Harper, and a Canadian forward following close behind.  They crashed into one another hard, the glass rattling as their bodies struck the boards and battled for control of the disk.  In a moment of panic, the Canadian forward began to lose her composure, reaching out an arm to create space and maintain her balance.  Her hand grabbed the first solid object on which it found purchase, the shaft of Harper's stick, eliciting an immediate whistle blast from the referee.  

"Number 21; holding the stick; two-minute penalty!"  The referee held up a hand pointing to the benches with his other.  A yelling match between him and the Canadian coach ensued, and in the brief downtime, Kane waved his arm, calling his players back towards the bench for a moment of strategizing.

"There's still forty seconds left, and we've got a golden opportunity here."  He turned to his captain, his expression deadly serious "Griffin, you're my quarterback on this power play.  How confident do you feel?"

Clarke splashed her face with water, giving him a curt nod before she lowered the cage of her helmet and answered.  "We've got this, Coach."

Kane winked.  "Then go get 'em, ladies."

With a few slaps on the shoulders for good luck, the American players departed the bench.  They glided back over to the face-off circle and hunkered down, staring back and forth at each other intently, their tension palpable as the referee skated into position.

The moment the puck hit the ice the world fell shock silent, every spectator in the stands holding their breath in anticipation, the only sound in the rink the voice of the announcer as he called the play by play.

"Back to the corner and it's Griffin and Côté fighting for the puck.  Griffin with control now. A pass to McIntyre on the point.  McIntyre drifts high in the slot and takes a shot and... Oh! It rebounds off of Anderson, but the Canadians can't get it back on the pine.  The puck is picked up by Blake. Blake back to Cooper at the left point.  Cooper passes to McIntyre.  McIntyre winds up and...  She fakes!  McIntyre fakes, and now the American women seem to be shifting positions. McIntyre transitions to the left point with right winger Johnson moving to the right point from low in the zone.  A pass to Johnson with three seconds left.  Johnson glides to the top of the face-off circle and...  She shoots!"

At that moment, Lexa felt as though the world had shifted into slow motion.  Through the screen of players lingering in front of the net, she watched as Johnson wound back and swung her stick forward with all the force of a wrecking ball.  She heard the crack of the slap-shot reverberated through the arena, saw the puck cutting through the air as it flew at her, a perfect spinning disk, high and to the right.  She raised her blocker reflexively, deflecting the puck, and sending it floating high over her left shoulder and out of sight.  Suddenly everything sped up.  There was a flash of an arm catching the puck mid arm, a split second of a swinging stick, and the ding of metal as the puck grazed the crossbar and sailed into the net.  Only then was the silence of the rink finally broken, shattered by the horrifying sound of a goal horn going off.

"And they score!  The Americans score! Oh, my goodness!  What was that!?  American captain Clarke Griffin scores in the craziest rebound return I think I've ever seen, folks."

Lexa could only stare, shocked, as a startled Clarke was enveloped in her teammates' embraces, their faces brimming with gleeful revelry.  Standing in front of the referee yelling, Echo looked like a volcano ready to erupt.  She gestured wildly, pointing this way and that as she yelled something about high sticking and touching the puck.  Over the loudspeakers, an announcer said that they were going to a video review, his voice mumbled as though he were an adult in a Peanuts cartoon.

The world finally came back into focus, and Lexa turned her eyes to a nearby monitor, where the final moments of the game were being played back from every available angle.  She watched in horror as the puck rebounded off her block and was knocked out of the air by Clarke's outstretched hand.  In the millisecond it took for the puck to drop to the level of her mid-torso, Clarke had grabbed her stick, swung it, and made direct contact with the black blob on the screen, knocking it past Lexa's glove side and into the goal as though it were a baseball.  Over and over again, Lexa watched the incredible scene; her jaw slacks with awe as she realized that Clarke's stick had indeed been below the level of the crossbar, making the shot a legitimate one.

The referee waved his arms declaring the goal fair.  The commentator excitedly announced that the game was going into overtime.  The fans exploded into a mixed chorus of cheers and booing.  Lexa could only stare at Clarke, wholly unable to process the impossible feat she had just witnessed the too-small American center perform.  Through the sea of bodies crowding her, Clarke stared back, smiling defiantly.

* * *

**_*For those wanting clarification on what Clarke’ s goal would look like, or if you are wondering whether or not this kind of “baseball goal” is something that actually happens in hockey, here is a link to a video of the real-life play that inspired it.”<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBcKHrTyG0I>_ **


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

The lights had dimmed on the ice rink.  Spectators had filled out and gone home, back to hotels, bars, and celebratory after parties.  Weary, and anxious for respite, the players had piled onto buses that sat waiting to ferry them back to the Olympic dormitories.  All save for two women who lingered in the American locker room. Half-dressed, in shin guards and hockey pants, they sat, huddled together in front of their lockers, eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

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"It's not your fault, Rae."

"I let the winning goal slip right through my legs, Clarke.  It's entirely my fault."

"You were screened.  Our defense should have picked that forward off in front of the net, and they didn't.  You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Clarke rubbed Raven's back and watched the crestfallen girl stare miserably at her skate-clad feet, head in her hands, elbows resting on her leg pads.  Forty-five minutes after their overtime loss and her best friend was still inconsolable, convinced that she had failed her teammates and disgraced herself in front of thousands of spectators.

"Nobody expects you to stop every shot. You went two for thirty tonight Raven, that's a ninety-three percent save average. "

"Woods' was ninety-eight and she took twice as many shots."

"Forget Woods!  Don't compare yourself to other people Raven."  

Clarke ducked her head and gingerly took Raven's chin in her hand, forcing her friend to look at her.

"There were a lot of things we did well tonight, but we got too focused on the forecheck.  We need to be stronger on D.  This wasn't on you."

Raven released a shaky breath, biting her lip to hold back more of the sobs that had overtaken her the moment they'd made it back to the locker room after the game. She wiped her smoked-topaz eyes with the back of a sleeve, brushing away the tears that had welled up and collected on the ends of her long lashes, dangling precariously and threatening to spill over.

"Everyone must hate me."

"Nobody hates you."

"Are they mad?"

"No. Of course not."

"Clarke," she paused.  "Your goal was amazing.  We would have won if I hadn't ruined everything by letting in that last shot."

"Nothing is ruined.  We could only have won if we scored in overtime, which we didn't. THIS. ISN'T. YOUR. FAULT."

Raven finally nodded. She rubbed her eyes again, sighing as she bent over and began unstrapping her leg pads.  Realizing how long they'd lagged behind their teammates, she removed her remaining equipment hurriedly, stuffing it into her locker randomly.

"We should go.  The bus is probably waiting on us."

Clarke nodded.  "You go.  I'm going to stay for a while and watch game tape."

The exhausted goalie stared at her friend apprehensively, worried that the captain was allowing the weight of her duties to wear her down, yet again.

"Clarke, are you sure?  It's been a hard day for everyone. You need rest too."

Ever the unwavering leader, Clarke waved her hand, dismissing any uncertainty as to her indefatigability.  "I'm fine, Rae.  I just want to take some notes so that I have constructive criticism to offer during the game breakdown at our next team meeting."

"But we have three days off to..."

"Rae, I'm fine.  I'll take the shuttle home."

Raven shrugged, knowing all too well that convincing Clarke Griffin that she was not invincible was, more often than not, a losing battle.

"At least promise me that you'll ice your leg."  She watched as Clarke removed her right shin pad, staring at the angry red scars that ran over the length of her knee.  "It looks swollen."

"It's just the scar tissue." Clarke, felt her friend gaze harden as she continued to remove her gear.  "But yes, I will."

"And you'll rest it and keep it elevated, and wrap..."

"Wrap it. Yes, Raven. I know what R.I.C.E is."

Raven ran a hand through her chestnut haired, hesitant to yield to Clarke's insistence that she was alright.

"I guess I'll see you back at the room then?"

Clarke nodded, unlacing her skates.  Raven stood over her, shrugging on her jacket as she studied her friend worriedly, wondering if she ought not to offer to stay behind with her.

"Not too late, promise?"

She nodded again, slipping her feet into sneakers as she smiled reassuringly at her friend.  "I promise."

Confident that Clarke would insist on needing solitude to focus, the goalie finally conceded this issue, departing the locker room in spite of her reservations that Clarke was burning the candle at both ends.

Pulling on her team sweatpants, Clarke watched Raven disappear through the swinging doors.  She listened to her co-captain's footsteps echoing off the concrete corridors of the rink, waiting until she heard the side door open and close.  Alone, at last, Clarke allowed herself to fall apart.  She slid down onto the floor, folding her arms over her legs and curling into herself as she began sobbing into her knees.

More than sad, Clarke was overwhelmed.  The game had been a mix of exhilaration and heartbreak, and in its immediate aftermath, She had set aside her feelings, well aware that her obligation was to remain a reticent, clear-minded pillar of strength for her teammates.  In the solitude of the empty rink, however, the storm of emotions finally broke, and just for a second, the captain allowed herself to be hysterical, torn between a sense of elation at scoring on an untouchable goalie, and her devastation over losing the game.

As quickly as the wave of overwhelming sentiment had washed over her, it began to break and roll back.  The sobs subsided, the tears ceased, and her breathing started to even out.  Clarke picked herself up off the floor, her ordinarily stoic countenance returning, save for the puffiness in her eyes.  She dusted herself off, determined to focus on the silver linings of the evening.  They had played sixty-four minutes and thirty-three seconds of mostly excellent hockey; that was a positive.  They had scored on a goalie who had previously shut out every team she faced down; that was a positive.  They had demonstrated excellent preparation on offense, and knew what needed to improve defensively; that was a positive.

Thwack. "Damn it!"

Clarke froze at the strange sound that intruded on the otherwise all-encompassing silence of the arena.  Every muscle in her body tensed, as she listened intently for the strange noise to repeat itself.

Thwack. "Shit!"

The sound came again, carried down the hallway from some distant corner of the rink.  She poked her head into the cavernous hall and strained her ear.

Thwack.  "Fuck!"

Now the sound was more discernible. Echoing into the passageway from a side corridor outside the Canadian locker room, it sounded suspiciously like someone trying to break in.

Thwack.  "Oh, come on!"

Cautiously, Clarke made her way down the darkened hall, her pulse racing as, inch by inch,  she crept toward the sound.  She dug in her sweatpants pocket, clutching her room keys desperately as she drew closer, barely noticing that she'd balled up her other fist.

Thwack.

Clarke tiptoes forward, her toes grazing the edge of the light that spilled into the hallway from the corridor.  The sound was loud now; it's source just around the corner.

Thwack.  Slap. "Finally!"

Clarke drew a deep breath and stepped into the corridor, drawing her keys out of her pocket defensively and raising them above her shoulder as though wielding a knife.

"HEY!"

Clad in nothing but gym shorts, and sports bra Lexa crouched, her back to the blonde, furiously practicing reaction drills against the far wall. The goalie nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected sound of the voice behind her.  She spun, tripping over her own feet and stumbling backward.  The ball she'd just caught flew off behind her as she reflexively put an arm out to stop her fall, and landed with a hard thud, impulsively grabbing her wrist.

Clarke's hand flew to her mouth, terrified that she'd caused an injury.

"Oh, my goodness!  Are you alright?"

Lexa winced, clutching her wrist tightly and waiting for the sharp stab of pain to manifest.  When none appeared, she shot a glare at Clarke, rising to her feet indignantly.

"What the hell is your problem, Griffin?!”

"I'm sorry!  I thought..."

"What? That you'd even the odds by giving me a heart attack?"

Clarke's face fell, her concern turning to irate irritation.  "Seriously?  I scored on you?!"  She eyed Lexa skeptically, attempting to ignore the fact that the goalie’s impressive physique was a little too on display.

Lexa rolled her eyes, glowering as she retrieved the reaction ball from the floor.  "Hardly!"

She turned away, ignoring Clarke as she went back to the drill.

"That game should have been a shutout. There is no way in hell your goal should have been ruled fair.  Lucky for you that you had a sympathetic referee."

Lexa launched the ball forward, cursing as it rebounded and flew past her outstretched glove hand, a second too fast to catch.

"Damn it!"

Clarke seethed, furious at having her accomplishment diminished so callously.  She watched as the brunette retrieved the ball once more, whipping it toward the wall in frustrating.  It rebounded sharply, flying directly at Lexa's head.  Before the goaltender could even duck, Clarke snatched it from the air, catlike, leaving her companion stunned.

"If you're so confident it wasn't a fair goal, then why are you here practicing glove side saves?"

She handed the ball to the wide-eyed brunette contemptuously, her expression smug as she began walking away.

The tips of Lexa's ears burned, her embarrassment evident as she watched Clarke retreat into the hallway and debated whether or not to belabor the argument.  Giving in to her lesser angels, Lexa discarded the reaction ball, taking off in pursuit of the infuriating American.  She rounded the corner, yelling to Clarke as she followed her down the hall.

"A goal shall be disallowed if the puck was batted by an attacking player even if deflected into the goal by any player, his stick, skate, goalkeeper or official into the goal."

Clarke glanced back over her shoulder in annoyance, speeding up as she tried to outpace her long-legged pursuer.  "What are you? A walking IIHF rulebook?"

"I might have consulted it."  Lexa easily overtook the smaller woman, walking backward in front of her.  "Regardless, it wasn't a fair goal."

Clarke's groaned, attempting to ignore the way Lexa's abdominal muscles flexed with each step.

"That rule refers to hand passing with an open hand.  I didn't pass to anyone, and my hand was closed.  The puck touched my knuckles, not my abs. PALM! MY PALM!"  She clenched her jaw, her face tensing with mortification.

"Still staring I see," Lexa smirked.

Clarke fixed her eyes on the floor, determined not to look at the frustratingly attractive woman blocking her path.  "Even if what you're saying is right, you still couldn't stop the puck."

Clarke surged forward, backing Lexa up against the door to the team USA locker room.  Your glove hand is slow. Like I said..."

"I'm not slow!"  In an instant, Lexa's face shifted from amused to hostile. "That shot was impossible to see!  Who has reflexes like that?!  It shouldn't even be possible!"

It was a startlingly strong reaction, and for a moment Clarke was stunned speechless.  She halted in her tracks, their bodies barely an inch apart. 

"What's the matter, Lexa?  You worried that you're not as good as everyone thinks you are?

She leaned in, hovered close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of Lexa's olive skin. Clarke finally allowed herself to look up at the brunette, studying her face carefully.  Her brow was knit in frustration, her mouth set in in a hard line that projected only hostility, but her eyes betrayed something Clarke couldn't quite place.  Whatever it was, some hidden emotion burned furiously behind irises that reminded Clarke of summer grass on the Minnesota prairie.

“Or, maybe you're just worried I might be better than you."

Clarke took a step forward, trying to enter the locker room.

"You're in my way."

Lexa didn't budge.  She hung defiantly in the entryway, her forearms propped against the door frame, an immovable object to Clarke's unstoppable force.

"Move."

"Make me."

"Lexa, I'm not kidding."

Clarke attempted to squeeze by, endeavoring to force herself into the space between Lexa and the door jamb.  The goalie indulged her for a few moments, allowing the determined girl to get as far as the door handle before using her considerable size to deflect her.  Lexa checked Clarke playfully, knocking her back with little effort and grinning like a fool at Clarke's incensed expression.  Her face burning with a competitive refusal to be denied, and Lexa reveled in how quickly she had managed to get under the blonde's skin, unable to stop herself from laughing.

"It's not funny, Lexa.  Get out of my way!"

Clarke darted to the side, twisting as she tried to force her way past her tormentor, but Lexa was too powerful.  She caught her around the shoulders, wrapping her strong fingers around Clarke's biceps as she pushed them away from the entrance.

Lexa held Clarke in place, chuckling at her frustration.  "Come on pipsqueak. You'll have to do better than that."

Clarke's face burned with irritation. She bent her knees, surging forward as hard as she could and forcing their bodies back into the door. Lexa's back hit the wood with a hollow thump, nearly knocking the wind out of her.

"There you go, munchkin!  Stronger than you look, aren't you?"  

Lexa peered down at the struggling girl, suddenly unable to ignore how Clarke's tank top had shifted, hanging just low enough to expose her considerable cleavage.  Unable to look away, Lexa found herself struggling to remember why they had been arguing in the first place.

"And you're dumber than you look."

Lexa realized a moment too late she'd been caught red-handed. Seeing her opportunity, Clarke used the brunette's misdirected focus to slip an arm past, grabbing the knob before Lexa could stop her.  The door gave way behind Lexa, and with the wood no longer supporting her weight she went tumbling backward into the locker room, pulling Clarke with her.

The goalie hit the floor full-force, Clarke's weight crashing down on top of her, forcing the air from her chest.  For a moment she lay stunned, face screwed up, lungs burning for air.  A second later the shock wore off, and Lexa gasped for breath. Her eyes snapped open, gazing directly into piercing pools of ice blue that shoot daggers her way.  Clarke's hair was half in her face; her nostrils flared, her brow knit in righteous indignation as she seethed down at the girl beneath her.  She was furious, and Lexa had never seen anyone look quite as annoyed or quite as attractive.

"What is your problem!"

"I..."  For the life of her, Lexa couldn't remember what the answer to that question was.

"You didn't even lose the game. Why can't you just admit that I scored on you, fair and square?”

"I... I..." She racked her brain, trying to remember why she'd been so annoyed, unable to form a single coherent thought.

"SAY SOMETHING!"

"You're right."

Clarke's expression turned from once of ferocity to bewildered silence, amazed that she had elicited approval of the girl pinned underneath her.

"W... What?"

"You're right.  It was a good goal. I couldn't stop it."

For a moment neither woman seemed to know what to do.  Lexa stared up at Clarke's shifting expression, watching it change from celebration to confusion to curiosity.  The captain studied her face intently, as though weighing the consequences of some significant decision.

"Fuck it."

"Clarke, I'm..."

Her apology was cut short by the weight soft, full lips pressing against her own.  An electric jolt surged through Lexa's body, overloading circuitry as though she were a blown fuse box.  It took a moment for her brain to register what was happening, but when her neurons began firing again, Lexa gripped the blonde's waist determinedly, pulling their bodies flush together. She drew Clarke's pouting, blush-colored lip into her mouth, deepening the kiss.  Lexa could taste vanilla chapstick. The intoxicating smells of almond skin creme and citrus shampoo, flooded her senses, allowing the last shreds of her resolve to slip away.

When they finally broke apart, Lexa gasped for breath, having forgotten she'd needed air altogether.  Wide-eyed, she watched Clarke stare down at her hungrily, drunk on desire and desperate need.

"Is there anyone back at your room?"

Lexa shook her head.  "They're all out celebrating."

Clarke nodded once, and with that, Lexa was being pulled out the door of the locker room and into the cold winter night.

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	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Lexa woke first.  She strained against consciousness, fighting for a few more moments of sleep until her outstretched arm found purchase around the body next to her, and suddenly Lexa was very awake, her memory returning in technicolor as snapshots of the evening with Clarke flickered through her mind.

[[MORE]]

Clarke had kissed her in the locker room, and the kiss had been a spark to a powder keg.  What followed after had been a madcap scramble to retrieve clothing, a brief taxi ride back to Olympic village in which every effort was made to hide their dangerously roaming hands from the driver, a calculated separation between elevator rides so as not to draw attention to themselves.  Throughout, Lexa's pulse had raced frantically, terrified that too much time was passing, that any delay would restore Clarke to her senses, realizing it was all a mistake.

Any fear of missed opportunity faded the second Lexa opened her door to the licentious determined girl.  Clarke's lips were on her instantly, crushing her own with desperation as she struggled to shut and lock the door behind them. Fingers roamed along her hips and snaked under her shirt,  tracing the lines of her abs as she attempted to walk them back towards the bed.

"Your roommate?"  Clarke mumbled as her lips began a trail down Lexa's neck, attaching themselves to a spot on her shoulder that made the tall, tan girl feel boneless and dizzy. 

The bed felt much too far away, and Lexa backed Clarke up against the nearest wall, managing little more than "boyfriend" and "celebrating" in response as she grasped at a thigh and hitched it up, settling her full weight against the blonde.

Clarke's hands were in her hair now, their lips connecting again as they pressed into each other, two waves of terrible, long-ignored need that crashed together and swelled, the first amplified by the urgency of the second.

"No one can know."

The warning came out barely audible, dampened by the sound of gasps for air between reckless, rough kisses and the sounds of the struggle to pull off clothing while still pressed together.  Given a second to think about it, the cautionary demand might have felt hurtful, but Lexa was too busy removing her shirt to care much about caveats. She pulled the navy blue cloth over her head, struggling to free an arm from one of its long sleeves as she haphazardly discarded it on the floor.  Half naked now, save for a sports bar, Lexa peered down over a speechless Clarke.  The blonde stared hungrily at the expanse of Lexa’s stomach, her breaths heavy and labored as she examined the nooks and grooves of the sculpted muscles on display.  Clarke ran her finger over them wantonly, exploring every inch of the heated, tight flesh.

“How do you even look like this?”

Lexa leaned over the smaller woman, stealing another kiss and deepening it as she pressed Clarke back into the wall.

“Five-day-a-week workouts and thirteen years of no days off.”

The words were rushed and came out between kisses that Lexa trailed over Clarke’s plump lips and down her neck.

“That sounds awful.”

The brunette nodded, her eyes closed, her fingers roaming to find purchase on soft supple flesh and digging into it.  “It is.”

Lexa felt the tips of Clarke’s fingers dip tentatively inside her waistband.  The brunette’s head fell back in pleasure as the fingers ghosted softly over the V-shaped lines formed where her hips met her lower abdomen.  The feeling of those fingers sent a tidal wave of electric current coursing through Lexa’s body and made her spine tingle and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.  A wave of heat radiated off her skin, and she felt her pulse throb in her veins as though her heart was about to burst. Suddenly, something inside Lexa snapped.

She gripped at the curves of Clarke's hips and pulled her towards the bed greedily, dropping down and drawing the smaller girl on top of her as soon as she felt her legs hit the back of the mattress.  Clarke's weight on top of her was euphoric, and if any wariness had existed before, it disappeared as Lexa lost herself in the hands that ghosted over her ribs, sliding up the toned expanse of her stomach as they slipped under the material of her sports bra, pushing it off eagerly.  Lexa ran her hands along Clarke’s back.  She drew them around her soft, smooth hips, and tucked themselves into her waistband before they stilled apprehensively, waiting for permission.  The room felt as though a boiler had exploded, steaming and ovenlike.  All Lexa could do was stare into the blue eyes hovering over her and lay there anxiously, aching with want as she waited for the Clarke to give her approval.

“Clarke, is this ok?"

Momentarily frozen, Clarke hung above her, her expression alive with want and temptation, lost in the ardor of the moment.  Her eyes though, the piercing cerulean of them was clouded with trepidation, as though they were gazing over the edge of a precipice, wondering if the drop was a lethal one.

It took a monumental effort, but Lexa managed to find her better angels. She pushed herself up on her elbows and gazing upward understandingly as she struggled to ignore many a lascivious impulse.

"We can stop.  We don't have to..."

"No."  And like that, the certainty returned to Clarke's eyes.  She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head, removing it in a single, swift motion.  Clarke reached behind her gracefully, unclasping her sports bra and delicately letting the straps fall.  Slowly, she slid the material down her arms, freeing the most incredible pair of pale, perfectly round breast Lexa had ever seen.  Clarke’s took Lexa’s hand in hers, bringing it upward until the long, elegant fingertips had reached the point where the blonde’s ribs gave way to her ample chest.  She allowed Lexa’s hands to take over, enjoying the feel of them ghost over the swell of her bosom and closing her eyes as one thump smoothed over the hard pebbled surface of a hardened, pink nipple.

When Clarke opened her eyes the sky of them had darkened; and given way to an endless sea of want and lust. "I don't want to stop."

* * *

What happened after that was mostly a blur.  Clothes were removed and forgotten, lights dimmed, and the whole of the world fell away until there was nothing but the two bodies in the bed.  The tiny word beneath the thin dormitory sheets was warm and wet, and alive with the moans and gasps of pleasure. The whole affair was a savage, needy sprint that left both women sweaty and sated, gasping for breath as exhaustion finally overtook them, and sleep conquered their drained and diminished bodies.

Staring at the figure next to her, Lexa couldn't help but wonder what the fallout would be when finally Clarke woke up.  Despite the emotional chaos of the encounter, at the time, they had appeared to orbit in a strange kind of consensus, confederates in their longing.  Post rendezvous, however, the goalie worried that the girl in her bed would wake filled with regret, or worse yet, feeling as though she'd been taken advantage of in a vulnerable state.  Neither possibility was palatable, and as Clarke began to stir, a preemptive wave of guilt rose up in Lexa's chest, feeling as though it would suffocate her.

The body under her arm shifted and rolled, and Clarke's eyelids fluttered open.  Clear blue pools peered up at the brunette calmly, still half drunk with sleep, but betraying no trace of disappointment.  To Lexa's great relief, Clarke gave a lazy half smile, sighing as she burrowed closer.

Lexa let it happen, doing her best not to smirk as Clarke curled into her and tucked her head against her chest.

"Griffin, are you trying to cuddle with me?"

A groan rumbled off of her ribcage.  "Oh, please. Don't act like you didn't have your arm over me just now."

She could feel Clarke fighting back a grin as a laugh tickled her sternum.  "Try not to ruin this by being yourself, Woods."

"Noted."  Lexa tried not to smile as she pulled the covers over them, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the warm body huddled against hers.  It was almost perfect, save for the nagging sense that she ought to clear the air, absolving her conscience once and for all.

"So," she hesitated. “You don’t have any regrets about last night?"

Clarke's breathing was warm and even against her skin, and the pad of her thumb stroked at the soft skin of Lexa's stomach.

"Not as long as no one finds out."

The statement prickled more than it felt it ought to, but Lexa let it go, dismissing the sensation as a bruised ego.

"Your secret is safe with me."  Without knowing why, she pressed a tender kiss to the top of Clarke's head, as though the act solidified her promise of discretion.  For a moment things felt awkward, but rather than object Clarke pressing her lips to the valley of skin above Lexa’s breast, forcing the goalie to ignore the way it made her pulse race.  Her hold on the smaller girl's torso grew tighter, more protective, and she ran a hand down Clarke's spine, surprised by the amount of muscle that clung to her tiny frame.

They lay there for a few moments, enjoying the afterglow as outside the sound of athletes filing out of hotel rooms and heading off to enjoy the evening began to grow louder.

"I need to leave."  Clarke finally broke the fragile bubble shrouding them from reality.  "You probably want to go celebrate your big win with your teammates."  There was almost no hint of bitterness to the statement, but Lexa could tell the American captain was still smarting from the loss as she leaned over the edge of the bed and began groping in the darkness for her clothes.

"You could stay for a bit."  Lexa played with the curve of the blonde's hip.  "We've already crossed the Rubicon and violated international athletic status quo."

She kissed the skin of the captain's back, enjoying the feeling of the warm body next to her more than she realized she ought to. "We might as well make the most of the evening."

Much to her chagrin, Clarke removed Lexa's hand from her hip, rising from the bed.  "Nice try Casanova," she smiled coyly, "but, as much fun as that sounds we've got a team meeting tomorrow, and bed-checks in an hour."  She searched the floor for her clothing, haphazardly pulling on an oversized shirt that she realized a second later belonged to Lexa.  Clarke peeled it off, tossing the article unceremoniously toward the bed, where it landed half shrouding the goalies head.  "Sorry," the blonde bit her lip as Lexa pulled the fabric from her face, "but the team captain can't exactly be absent for a curfew she's enforcing."

“Yeah, I guess,” Lexa nodded, hiding the pang of disappointment that had risen in her chest.

She watched as Clarke groped in the dark, desperate to find panties and a missing sock.  Lexa fished a bit of lace out from under the sheets and extended the fabric toward her frustrated companion.

"Here."

Clarke smiled graciously, tucking the fabric into the pocket the sweatpants she was struggling to pull on.  "Thanks."

“Don't mention it,” Lexa propped herself up in bed, watching her dress, wondering why she felt more bothered than normal by a girl leaving so soon after a casual rendezvous.  Trying to maintain her foothold in the situation, Lexa leaned back in the pillows, arms folded behind her head, cool and casual.  “So, you wanna exchange numbers or something?”  She paused, suddenly feeling tense, as though the statement had come off more needy than nonchalant.  She wracked her brain for a way to follow up the question with something that would make it seem more detached. 

"We have three days off.  I wouldn't mind making this a two-night stand if you were up for it."

Clarke chuckled, shrugging on her hoodie and grabbing her sneakers. She took a seat on the bed, pulling them on and staring skeptically at Lexa.

“I thought you didn’t do repeat performances?”

"Says who?"

Clarke narrowed her eyebrows.  "Says the Swedish snowboarder three rooms down from me and the German short track speed skater one floor up."

"Oh." Lexa's face fell. 

"Oh, indeed."

The goalie swallowed, trying not to appear guilty in the face of the knowing look Clarke was shooting her.  “I mean.. I do if the company is tempting enough.”

“Ugh,” Clarke made a sickened face, pulling on her last shoe. "I'm so flattered." She frowned at the naked girl reclining on the pillows, her face a mixture of annoyance and sarcasm. “You're gonna have to do better than that Woods.”

“Wait!” Lexa sat up a bit, sobered into sincerity. She pushed the tangled mess of loose curls out of her face, grabbing Clarke's wrist before she could push herself off the bed. “Honestly, I had a good time tonight."  

The brunette's face became soft, her gaze as genuine as she could make it. "I know what my reputation is, but if you're up for it, I think we should do this again."

Clarke considered the offer carefully, unable to take her eyes off the nude girl, whose toned muscles shifted temptingly under her tawny skin.  “I feel like it goes without saying that you can't tell anyone about this."

“What?"  Lexa touched her hand to her chest, feigning an expression of wounded shock. "You mean I can't tell my incredibly competitive and suspicious teammates that I'm fraternizing with the enemy? I'm sorry, but that's a bridge too far, Griffin.”

Clarke rolled her eyes “Ok, point taken. You're not going to tell anyone.”

“So,” Lexa leaned on her elbow, grinning hopefully, "does this mean that I get your number?"

“No,” Clarke looked at her suspiciously.  "But you can give me yours, and I'll think about it."

"I'll take it."  Lexa accepted the captain's phone graciously, tapping the screen hurriedly and saving her number before the girl has a chance to reconsider.  "You won't regret this, Griffin."

Clarke smirked, stealing a final quick kiss from the tall, frustrating girl in the bed  "I'm sure I will, but let's worried about that later."  She ran her fingers along the sinewed flesh of Lexa's stomach, unable to resist the urge to feel her soft skin once more before she left.

"You should get dressed, you know.  Sounds like your teammates are headed out to celebrate.  You're going to miss them if you don't hurry."

Lexa blushed.  "Yeah, they kind of didn't invite me."

Clarke stared at the goalie curiously, as though she'd just said something utterly ridiculous.  "Why wouldn't they invite you?"

"They kind of hate me."

The American girl nodded, considering the information judiciously.  "Well, did you give them a reason to?"

Lexa shrugged. "My existence, in general, annoys them, but apparently the latest slight was something I said in an interview about feeling like I had a major advantage because I'd transitioned to the team from the OHL."

"Ah, that explains it.” Clarke shook her head in amusement.

"What?"  Lexa cocked one eyebrow.  "I don't get why that would upset anyone."

"Exactly," Clarke nodded.  "You don't get how that statement diminished the credibility of the women's league.  You're too caught up in proving yourself as a men's hockey player."

"But..." Lexa fumbled for a response, irritated that Clarke wouldn't recognize the obvious fact behind her statement. "I didn't mean that other women's players aren't good enough to play in the men's league.  I think some of them are.  I mean, if you were bigger..."

"But I'm not bigger, Lexa."  Clarke cut her off, rolling her eyes at the statement she'd heard a hundred times before.  "I'm never going to be more than 5'4" 140 pounds.  That doesn't mean that I'm not a great hockey player."

Clarke rose from the bed and retrieved her jacket from the floor.  "I know that I'm a great hockey player. Like you said earlier, how many people could have made the shot that I made tonight?"

“Admittedly,” Lexa huffed, “none.”

Clarke nodded. "Right, but even so, I'm never going to be able to compete with men twice my size.  The physics of it just aren't fair, and there is no getting around that. The NHL's average body metrics are six foot one inch and two hundred pounds.  Do you even know how few women fit that metric?"

Lexa shook her head.

"It's a fraction of a percent, .051% to be exact, and even at that size, a woman would still have a different musculature.  That stacks the odds pretty high against us in any position outside of goaltending."

Clarke looked the tall, powerfully built Canadian girl up and down, solemnly.  "I don't think you realize how lucky you are to have a body like you do. That's why it's critical to have a women's league, so phenomenal women's players don't get left behind just because they're biologically designed to be smaller.  And, I mean it's not like we aren't just as exciting to watch.  The US Women's National Team has never been ranked lower than 3rd by the IIHF, and we've been ranked 1st since 2009.  Moreover, we've won eight of the past ten world championships.  Do you know how many the US Men's National Team has won?"

Lexa shook her head.

"Two, and the last one was in 1960.  The men are ranked 6th in the world, and they've never been higher than 4th, and yet, until a year ago they earned 70,000 dollars a year to our 6,000 dollars every four years."

"Wow, really?"  The goalie stared, stunned.

"Yes, really."  Clarke finished pulling on her coat, playing with the zipper awkwardly.  "Woods, the worst thing about you is that more than anyone, you know what it's like to have your talent continually scrutinized because of your size and gender.  Yet, for some reason, when you face criticism that is obviously gender-based, you doubled down on that bias rather than pointing out the injustice of it."

The captain finally looked up from her jacket. "You're an outstanding goalie, Lexa.  You went undefeated in the last three games of your Major Junior season and the first two games of the Olympics.  Honestly, you might be one of the best to ever play the game."

"So you've been googling me?"

"Not the point."  Clarke rolled her eyes, her face suddenly soften, as though she felt sorry for the girl in the bed.  "Aren't you tired of playing in leagues where you're chronically underestimated and unappreciated?"

Lexa stared at Clarke in astonished silence, too shocked and confused by the poignant criticism to form a coherent response.

From across the room, Clarke smiled at her sympathetically.  "Look, if you want to win over your team, try defending what they do." 

 

She crossed the floor, grabbing her cell phone from the bedside table.  

“Just… Try not to have such a big chip on your shoulder is all I'm saying."  With that, she pressed a quick kiss to Lexa's forehead and headed for the exit, disappearing through the door before Lexa could say another word.

Next Chapter - >

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

* * *

The shrill squeal of the referee's steel whistle ran in her ears as Lexa dropped the puck to the ice.  She watched as the man in the striped shirt called no goal, pointing towards the face-off circle.  Less than three minutes to go in the third period, and with Echo and Co. continuing their silent refusal to help Lexa in front of the net, the goalie couldn't wait for the game to be over.  The whistle blew again, the puck dropped, and the gameplay exploded to life once more.

The Czech team fought desperately for control of the puck, scrapping for every break they got as they strived to replicate the American team's feat of scoring on the indomitable Canadian goaltender.  Early on in the game, they had kept their play respectably enough, but with the score up 5-0 and beyond any hope of winning, their sportsmanship had disintegrated to the level of a street fight, and the biased referee showed no intention of reigning them in before the final buzzer.

[[MORE]]

A minute and a half left on the clock as the puck sailed out to a waiting Czech defenseman at the point.  She began to drop low, taking a mighty slap shot that caught the shin pad of a Canadian center as it ricocheted towards the front of the net.  Momentarily abandoning her refusal to help Lexa, Echo made a break for the puck, colliding with the Czech forward who had scrambling to pick it up.  The two women battled ferociously for control of the disk, with the Czech winger growing more and more desperate to elude the large and imposing defenseman.  Finally, she'd had enough, and the Czech’s elbow shot up forcefully catching Echo in the chin just below her cage, knocking her helmet halfway off as the pointed end of it collided with her bottom lip.  Echo stumbled backward long enough for the Czech women to take a wild shot on net.

Lexa caught the poorly aimed shot easily, holding the puck until she heard the whistle.  To the goalie's great surprise, the referee pointed at the face-off circle, making no mention of the elbow.  She stared over at Echo, her face cage hanging open as she pressed a hand to her bleeding lower lip.  The Canadian captain skated angrily over to the referee, exchanging heated words with him.  Over on their bench, Indra waved her arms furiously.  Close enough that she could make out their conversation, Lexa listened as the referee dismissed Echo's demands of a penalty call.

The referee shook his head. "The contact was accidental.  No penalty," the man spoke with a strong accent, his voice forceful as he pointed towards the face-off circle.

Echo's eyes went wide, wild, unbridled anger clouding her expression.  "But that's ridiculous!  Even if the contact was accidental, which it clearly wasn't, that's still a minor penalty!  Are you blind?"

He scowled.  "I said no penalty. Go line up before I penalize you for delaying the game."

"This is crazy!  How can you not call a penalty on something this obvious." Echo's eyes were red and furious as she clutched her bleeding lip.

The referee rolled his eyes.  “Damn it, this why I hate working the women’s games.  The men never complain about rough plays but you girls… You’re are always crying about nothing."

Something in Lexa finally snapped, and she flew out of the goal, making a beeline for the offensive official.

"What the hell is your problem! How dare you talk to her like that!"

He looked at her curiously, pointing to the net.  “You get back in that net!”

Unable to contain her righteous indignation, Lexa inched forward intimidatingly, towering just above the short, homely man.

"Not until you apologize to my captain.  What you just said is fucking disgraceful!  Your whole performance in this game has been fucking disgraceful!"

The referee sneered at her.  "Get back in the net, or I'll throw you out of this game."

"Apologize, and call the damn penalty! That was an illegal elbow!" Lexa roared in his face, poking him in the chest with her glove for emphasis as she leaned down condescendingly. "Maybe you would be calling the men's games if you weren't such a shit referee."

With that, the referee clenched his jaw furiously, his face turning a bright shade of crimson as she blasted his whistle "Game misconduct!"  He pointed off the ice.  "Number eight is ejected!"

"WHAT!"  Lexa threw her hands up in the air, listening to the crowd loudly protest the dramatic call.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Coach Indra looking ready to climb over the boards and throttle the man.  Echo merely hung there, suspended in her disbelief at Lexa defending her.

"GET OFF THE ICE!"

The referee blew his whistle continuously, as he pointed towards the rink exit.  With no recourse available, Lexa turned, knocking the obnoxious steel contraption from the ref's hands as she headed off the ice.

* * *

"LEXA WOODS!"

"Can you please keep your voice down!"  Clarke shot Raven a death glare as she shoved an extra pair of socks into her small sports duffle.

"As in superstar goalie for our one true rival, Lexa Woods?"  Raven was quieter this time, her attempts at a whisper barely less than standard volume.

"Yes, that Lexa Woods. Now, would you please get ready?  We have to be on the team bus in ten minutes." Clarke looked pleadingly at her giddy roommate, desperate to take back the information she'd just imparted.

Raven jumped over to Clarke's bed gleefully, grinning like the Cheshire cat.  "Griff, I was ready a half an hour ago.  Don't think you're getting out of giving me details."

The blonde rolled her eyes.  "I told you, there is nothing to tell.  I  was in a weird place.  I had a ton of pent up stress and energy. Lexa was just..."

Clarke paused, groaning defeatedly.  "She was there."

"She was there, so you fucked her brains out?"

Clarke turned her face up in objection.  "Ugh!  Don't be disgusting, Raven.  I didn't fuck her brains out."

"So she fucked your brains out?"

"No, Raven! "

"So you didn't fuck?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean..." Clarke screwed her eyes shut in frustration. "It wasn't like that."

"It sure doesn't sound like it was an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Did you sleep with her or not, Clarke?"

"Yes," Clarke moaned, her head hanging as she admitted to the one night stand.

Raven shot up, clapping her hands with joy.  "Well, was it good?” she asked, trying not to let her eager delight spill over into hysterics.

Clarke sighed as she stared at her determined friend.  A Raven in want of information was a force with which to be reckoned. Ultimately, there would be no denying her.  "Might as well get it over with," Clarke thought to herself.

"Raven, if I tell you this you have to swear on all that is holy," she paused. "You have to swear on our friendship, that this information stays between you and me."

The taller girl held up a tan, perfectly manicured hand as though pledging allegiance.  Her face became stern, her expression one of utter solemnity.  "Clarke, on my honor as a deeply lapsed Roman Catholic, I swear on our friendship that anything you tell me, I will take to the grave."

Clarke breathed out slowly, already lamenting what she was about to admit to her friend.  "It was good."

Raven's face immediately broke into an ecstatic smile.

"Like, really, exceptionally good."  Clarke could barely look at her friend, her face turning red as Raven hugged her enthusiastically.

"Oh, honey. You had awesome anger sex with our team's arch nemesis.  I'm so happy for you!"

Clarke groaned, profoundly regretting her decision to give Raven an honest answer when her friend had asked her where she'd gone after their game.

"Raven we have a game in an hour.  This revelation aside, can you please try and focus?"

"Griff, we have a courtesy scrimmage against the Korean national team in an hour.  I will think of nothing other than your hookup until you avail me with more details after the game."

"You're the worst,"  Clarke mumbled into her friend shoulder.

"I love you too, babe."

* * *

"Hey."

Lexa looked up as Echo kicked her skate.

"That was dumb you know, getting yourself thrown out of the game like that."

"We were up by five, and Emori was more than capable of handling the net for the last minute."

"Still..."

"You could just say thank you."  Lexa stared up at her defenseman momentarily, trying not to look annoyed.

Echo shoved her hands in her pockets nervously, avoiding the brunette's gaze.  "Thank you,"  she kicked at the floor sheepishly, struggling to get her words out, "for sticking up for me back there. With the way I've been treating you, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't."

"Don't worry about it."  Lexa smiled hesitantly at her captain. Unsure of how to proceed beyond the small gesture, the goalie turned her attention back to unbuckling the straps of her leg pads.  She watched as Echo glanced awkwardly over her shoulder, staring at the doorway to the locker room where Gaia's stood, gesturing her silent encouragement. 

"Look," Echo cleared her throat, staring at the ceiling as she fought her desire to leave the interaction at thank you and be done with it.  "Some of us are going down to the Holland Heineken House for food and beers later.  You probably have other plans but..."

"I don't," Lexa spoke a little too quickly, embarrassed at having betrayed her excitement as she looked up from her shins.

"Oh," Echo nodded. "Well, you're welcome to come, if you want to."

Lexa paused, trying to act cool.  "You sure? I wouldn't want to impose."

The imposing defenseman rolled her eyes. "Wood, just accept the damn invitation before I change my mind."

Lexa nodded, grinned as she watched Gaia give a thumbs up from the doorway.  She threw her leg pads into her gear bag, unlacing her skates hurriedly as Echo headed for the door.  "So we're best friends now, right?"  Lexa chuckled as she pulled on her sweatpants.

Echo chuckled under her breath, shaking her head.  “Nope. I still can't stand you."

* * *

"Over here, Griff," Clarke heard Raven's voice calling to her from somewhere in the back of the crowded hospitality house.  She squeezed through the crowd, making her way over to the long table where Raven, Octavia, and Harper sat, clutching extremely tall glasses, brimming with amber colored beer.  She took a seat next to Octavia, fighting the urge to caution the 19-year-old not to drink too much.

"Sorry that I'm so late. I had to go over some game points with Coach."

Raven waved a hand dismissively.  "Yes, yes, we all know you're very responsible.  Now, drink up."

The goalie pushed a tall glass of pilsner towards Clarke, who stared at the beverage apprehensively.

"Loosen up, Clarkie.  We've got three days off.  Live a little."

Sighing, she reached for the beer and took a small sip.  "Fine, but just one."

"Of course." Raven winked at her mischievously.  "Just one."

* * *

Three beers later, Clarke was all warmth and easy laughter as Raven entertained the group with stories of their first season together.

"She had such a chip on her shoulder!"

"I did not!" Clarke giggled through another sip of beer.  "I was trying to prove myself, like everybody else."

"Like hell!"  Raven tipped back the remains of her glass and ordered another.  "You were trying to prove you were Wayne Gretzky."

"Well, you try being this size on that roster.  I was the smallest team member by four inches and 40 pounds."

"You were pretty tiny."

Octavia smiled awkwardly, trying to hold her own amongst the veteran skaters.

"Weren't you the youngest too?"

Clarke nodded.  "Yes, by a little bit."

Raven gave her a playful nudge in the ribs and wiggled her eyebrows.  "She's being modest. She was the youngest player ever selected to a U.S. Olympic hockey team.”  She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and scrolling through her photo app until she found the right picture.  "Here, look."

Octavia and Harper leaned over the table as Clarke groaned her eyes in protest.

"Raven, please don't tell me you're showing them the photo I think you are."

"I'm showing them the photo you think I am," she laughed wickedly.

Clarke peered over the table at Raven's screen.  Sure enough, there was a picture of her squinting, smiling sheepishly and holding up a hand in protest, her braces-clad teeth on full display.  "Oh g-d, that photo is horrible!”

"It's adorable!"  Raven smiled, flipping through a few more embarrassing snapshots.  "That was our first week of training.  She was such a baby!”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "I got those braces off a few weeks later, but this one..." She pointed at Raven. "Compassionate saint that she is, she made sure to take plenty of beforehand photos so I could never live it down."

Octavia was in hysterics as she flipped through the candids, gleefully flipping from one unflattering image to the next.   Harper's attention, meanwhile, was drawn to some new fascination at the entrance to the hospitality house.  Raven nudged the defenseman with her foot, regaining her consideration.

"Hey, what got you staring so hard?"

Harper blushed at having been caught red-handed.  She cleared her throat, pointing discreetly towards the front of the room.

"Looks who's here."

Three sets of eyes followed her slender index finger to where a Canadian player had just ducked inside.  The woman was angular and piercing, with a long nose that ended, somewhat surprisingly, in a slightly bulbous tip.  It would have looked homely on anyone else, but offset against the chiseled jawline and high, sharp cheekbones it only made the woman look more contemptuously alluring. Her dirty blonde hair and exactingly curved brows framed large, light-brown eyes that scanned the room cautiously.

Clarke narrowed her gaze, her pulse speeding as she stared at the women who was partially responsible for the year she'd spent limping around on a bum knee.  She felt heated; indignant and incensed as she stared at the player whose cavalier disregard for safety and restraint had single-handedly cut her career short.  Of all the indignations she had suffered as a result of that fateful moment, the worst was knowing that Echo was walking around on two good legs, miraculously uninjured though both of their legs had impacted during the on-ice collision. This imbalance of repercussion was almost certainly due to the considerable size differential of the two women, with Clarke the unlucky smaller party.  A moment later the blonde jumped, shaken out of her fixation by the sound of a hand smacking the table-top.

“Fucking Côté! I can’t stand that girl!”  Raven seethed.  “I should go over there and knock that smile right off her smug, self-righteous face.”

The goalie glared daggers at the intimidating defenseman, as though she might jump over the table at any minute and charge the unsuspecting woman.

Immediately shifting back into captain mode, Clarke placed a restraining hand on her friend's shoulder.

“Raven, don’t. What happened was an accident.”  The words tasted like poison in Clarke’s mouth, but she forced them out anyway.

“Griff, how can you say that?”  Harper stared across the table at her friends, genuinely shocked.  “She nearly ended your…”

The thought trailed off into nothing as Harpers' eyes caught a glimpse of a second player who’d slunk in just being the Canadian Captain.

“Whoa.”  Harper’s eyes widened, her mouth hanging open a little as she drank in the intoxicating sight.  Everyone’s gaze shifted to the front of the room, where Lexa Woods hung hesitantly in the doorway.  Finally, she slipped inside, reluctantly following on the heels of the girl in front of her, unaware of the four American women whose stares were fixed on her as she made their way toward a table full of her teammates.

“Ugh!  She’s even sexier off the ice.”  Harper bit her lip and sighed, taking a sip of her drink as she continued to study the imposing figure cut but the Canadian goalie.

Clarke, Raven, and Octavia all spun their heads towards Harper, thoroughly shocked by the offhand revelation.

“I thought you had a boyfriend!”  Octavia’s eye popped wide open in shock.

Harper grinned sheepishly and shrugged.  “I mean, I do, but it’s not like I don’t have eyes.” Besides, I’ve always been open to the possibility.” 

Raven leaned across the table now, studying her friend curiously.  “Harper McIntyre, are you saying that you’ve dipped your toes in the waters of sapphic pleasure?”

Harper smiled coyly. “I dated a lot of people before I met Monty.”

Raven’s smile grew by a mile.  “Dude! You’re bi! How did we not know this?”

The soft-spoken defenseman shook her head, polishing off the last of her drink.  “I don’t ascribe to labels.  I see people, not gender.  However, if I had to call it something, I’d say I’m pansexual or polysexual, not bi.”

Raven rolled her eyes.  “Whatever you call it, you’re lusting after Lexa Woods!”

Harped chuckled and held up her hands. “I mean why wouldn’t I?  She’s a show stopper, and honestly…”

Harper leaned over the table secretively, bowing her head so only her friend could hear her.

“I saw her in the gym the other day doing pull-ups in nothing but tiny shorts and a sports bra.  She was covered in sweat, and I mean…”  Harper pulled at the front of her shirt, pretending to cool herself.  “That body… Those tattoos... All that toned muscle… I swear, I almost had to take a cold shower afterward.”

Raven smirked mischievously “I can only imagine.”  She chanced a quick glance at Clarke as she spoke, earning a swift kick under the table.

Clarke cleared her throat, trying not to blush furiously.  “Guys, we shouldn’t be talking about other players like this. It’s unprofessional.”

The stern statement seemed to strike a bit of solemnity into Octavia and Harped, their faces sobering a bit. Raven, however, would not be deterred.  “Clarke!  Are you not looking around this hospitality house right now.  Every athlete in here is hitting on someone, or about to be hit on by someone.  “Loosen up, girl! We didn’t just bring you down here for the cheap pilsners and the sightseeing.”

Realization suddenly hit Clarke like a freight train, and she screwed her eyes shut in frustration.

“You’re all trying to get me laid aren’t you.”

Guilt written all over her features, Octavia bit her lip nervously.  “Don’t look at me. It was their idea.”  The youngest current member of their team, the black-haired forward shrunk a bit, loath to be in trouble with someone she considered a mentor.

Harper reached across the table, gingerly placing her hand atop Clarke’s.  “Griff, we love you girl, but it’s been at least two years since you saw anyone. Be honest, aren’t you kind of going crazy without a little…”  She dipped her chin, her eyebrows wiggling. “You know?”

“I’m not answering that!” Clarke’s face burned with embarrassment, and not only because her friend had just insinuation that she had become a stiff in the past few years.  As soon as Harper had asked the question, a play by play of Clarke’s night with Lexa had begun to flash through her mind.  The captain found it hard to keep a straight face while remembering the unspeakable pleasure of having the brunette's face buried between her legs, her wild curly mane tickling the inside of Clarke's thighs.  For a moment she could almost smell the sweat pooling between their bodies, and taste herself on Lexa’s lips.

And then the moment was gone, and Clarke snapped out of it a second too late to realize that she’d been staring at Lexa the whole time.  She instantly turned bright red.  “I’m focused on my job.  I don’t have time for anything else right now.”

Her friends were all grinning at her, not the least bit fooled.  Octavia snickered into her beer, and Clarke reminded herself to scold Raven and Harper later for inviting a 19-year-old to drink with them in the first place.  Harper looked back and forth between the Canadian table and her captain a few times, her face a perfect picture of validation.

“Ok, so… I’m not the only one here who finds Lexa Woods attractive.”

“I’d say that’s fair.”  Raven felt another kick to her shin.  She tried not to wince as she smirked at her best friend.  Clarke, it’s alright to have fun sometimes.  You’re not going to lose your edge just because you talked to a pretty girl.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Raven, it’s fraternizing.  If we end up playing them in the final…”

“Okay! Okay!  Don’t talk to Woods then.  Find someone else, but go find someone!”

Raven gestured around the room.  “You’re in Olympic Village, Clarke.  This place is teeming with eligible, visually appealing single people that have the bodies of Greek gods.  Girl, this is literally the last time you’re ever going to be swimming in a pool of potential one-night-stands this top shelf.

As soon as she had made the statement, Raven’s face fell, realizing the unintended insinuation behind her words.  There was a moment of silence as the truth of Raven’s words sunk in for everyone.  No one on the team mentioned it, even in the privacy of privileged conversations, but it was a truth universally acknowledged that this would be Clarke’s last Olympics.  The uneasy feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and a second later Clarke was rising from her seat.

“Fine, but if you three are determined to set me up, then I’m going to need another beer.”

Raven swatted her friend ample backside playfully.  “That’s right Griffin!  Go get you some, girl!”

Clarke groaned, rolling her eyes as she made her way towards the bar.  Safely hidden inside the gaggle of people clambering for drinks, she snuck another look at the Canadian goalie, turning just in time to catch Lexa look away from her and apologize to a teammate for being distracted.  Clarke couldn’t help but smirk, wondering if Lexa’s mind was currently being invaded by the same salacious thoughts that had disarmed her earlier.  Perhaps it was the beer, or the suggestive insistence of her far too eager friends, or the intrusive memories of the night before, but at that moment Clarke decided that Raven was right. A little fun wouldn’t kill her.  She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed a quick message.

[Hey, this is Clarke.]

[Hey. What’s up?]

The response was tenser than she’d hoped, but Clarke remained undeterred.

[You still up for making this a two-night stand?]

She waited with bated breath, wondering if her dismissiveness in the aftermath of their encounter had put the Canadian phenom off of her.  A second later her phone vibrated in her hand, a single word appearing on the screen.

[Absolutely.]


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

"I should get going."  Clarke sighed, not attempting to move as she enjoyed the feeling of Lexa's surprisingly soft palm rubbing circles over the flat plane of her back.  The gesture felt surprisingly intimate, calming and thoughtful; not at all what Clarke would have expected in the wake of rendezvous number two.  "Your roommate will probably be back soon."

The brunette shook her head.  "She and her snowboarder boyfriend are catching up with their families; seeing the sights.  They won't be back until late tomorrow."

"Oh." The statement was an afterthought, as though it didn't matter either way. "Well then, I should probably let you enjoy having space to yourself."

Lexa's hand stilled, her fingers caressing the fine blonde hairs at the nape of Clarke's neck. "You can stay if you like." She waited anxiously for an answer, wondered if Clarke had been looking for a polite way to excuse herself.

[[MORE]]

There was a pregnant pause, and the girl in Lexa's arms tensed for a moment, unsure of herself.  "You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all." She kept the response brief, afraid that any hint of neediness would scare away her timid bedfellow.  When the silence persisted, she attempted levity "I mean, I wouldn't want you to feel cheap."

It was a gamble, but the detached bravado strangely seemed to reassure Clarke, instilling in her a sense of confidence that they were not venturing beyond the borders of their respective emotional boundaries.

"G-d, you're the worst."  Lexa could feel Clarke roll her eyes as she pinched the skin on the goalie's hip.  "Let's not get things twisted, Woods. I used you, not the other way around."

"Whatever you say, Griffin."  She laughed, tugging the sheets over their heads.  She rolled on top of the diminutive Center Forward, playfully pinning her to the mattress.  Lexa rested her forehead against Clarke's, the tips of their noses touching.  "Feel free to use me again if you feel inclined."

"Nice try."  Clarke jabbed her in the ribs, flipping them over with ease, settling above Lexa with a triumphant smirk.  "But if I'm staying, I'm staying for the peace and quiet."  She pulled one of the goalie's toned arm around her waist, making her needs clear.  "I love Raven, but she sounds like a chainsaw when she sleeps."

Lexa chuckled, imagining the fierce fellow goaltender keeping her roommate awake with her snoring.  "That bad, eh?"

She ran a hand carelessly through the blonde mane that spread out over her chest, enjoying the tiny moans it elicited from Clarke.  Soon, the rhythm of the American girl's breathing had slowed, evening out as sleep began to conquer her.

"You're sure I'm not keeping you for anything?" the captain yawned.  "Don't you want to celebrate the big win with your family?"  There was only a tiny hint of bitterness in the statement.

Lexa continued running her fingers through Clarke's hair, gently untangling the knots that had formed during the exploits of the past few hours.  "No family to celebrate with.  Mom's dead.  My father and I aren't close."

"Oh." Clarke seemed genuinely moved by the unexpected confession.  She stirred, her fingers ghosting thoughtfully along Lexa's rib cage.  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive."

"It's fine.  How would you have known?"

"Was it..."

"A long time ago, when I was little."

Clarke nodded, tracing the pads of her fingers along the raised print of the tattoo that ran the length of Lexa's side.  "I didn't realize we had that in common."

Lexa's cocked an eyebrow.  "Which part?"

"The dead parent part."

"Your mom?"

The fingers trailing along her ribs stilled for a moment, missing a beat in their otherwise steady cadence.  "My dad."

"Recently?"

"I was sixteen."

"How?"

Clarke sighed as Lexa's fingers snaked behind her ear, stroking a particularly sensitive spot.  "Nice try, Woods, but if you want to compare childhood trauma, you're going to have to go first."

Lexa groaned, "I asked, so I suppose that's fair."  She cleared her throat, closing her eyes as she tried to remember the details as they'd been relayed to her.

"I was six.   I was asleep on my older brother's lap in the back seat of the car, so I don't remember much.  It was late.  It was the middle of winter. It was snowing. The roads where we lived were terrible. My mother was driving us home from some family thing.   Some guy's brakes went out.  He slid through a red light and slammed into our driver's side.  Our car rolled off an embankment. My mom was killed on impact."

Appropriately horrified, Clarke was left stunned and momentarily speechless.

"You don't remember any of it?"

Lexa shook her head.  "My brother's head slammed into mine and knocked me out."  She placed her hand on Clarke's own, bringing the fingertips to rest on a raised patch of skin that ran across her right eyebrow.  "That's where I got this."

"And your brother?"

"Ilian saved my life."  Lexa looked away as she spoke, avoiding Clarke's gaze as though the eye contact would have been physically painful.

"Somehow, he managed to hold onto me the whole time. Otherwise, I probably would have been ejected from the vehicle."

Clarke hesitated, unsure if she wanted to know the answer to the question that was on the tip of her tongue.

"Was he ok?"

"No."

"So, he..."

"Yes."

"Lexa, I'm so..."

"Don't say you're sorry."  She sighed, her grip tightening a little on Clarke's hand. 

"It wasn't anyone's fault, not even the guy who hit us. He wasn't drunk, or tired.  His breaks just went out at exactly the worst moment.  It just happened."

The statements came out emotionless and matter-of-fact.  The brunette had clearly steeled herself off from the emotional entropy of the event.

They lay there for a while, neither one speaking as Clarke ran her fingers delicately across the raised scar above Lexa's eye.   In the back of her mind, she tried to imagine who Lexa had been as a child.  Lonely, she supposed. Lexa must have felt terribly alone after the accident.

"All I remember is waking up in the hospital and seeing my father screaming at my mother's dad in his stupid, broken English.  He was furious at my grandpa for letting mom drive home. That was the last time I saw my grandfather."   She paused, contemplating the story. "Come to think of it; I think that was the last time I saw anyone from the Woods side of the family."

"You have your mother's last name?"

"Well, it was either that or Gustislavovna-Davydova."

Lexa chuckled at the perplexed look on Clarke's face.  "My father emigrated from Russia during the Cold War."

She pushed the loose hair out of Clarke's face, tucking it behind her ear and, without thinking, placed a soft kiss on the girl's forehead.  "Rural Canadians can be tricky about foreigners.  He didn't want my brother and me to be mistreated."

It felt strange to Clarke, to go from knowing almost nothing about Lexa to learning so much in a few minutes of conversation.  In public, she was so withheld, so singularly focused on her craft that it was nearly impossible to imagine Lexa as someone with a personal life or an origin story.  It seemed as though she'd materialized on an ice rink one day, fully clad in goalie pads, and it occurred to Clarke at that moment that she had never actually heard Lexa mention her family in interviews.

"Tell me about your mother."

To her great surprise, Lexa didn't balk at the request.  Instead, she shrugged.  "The truth is I don't remember her well.  I wish I did, but she worked all the time, and I was pretty young when she died.  It's hard for me to recall specifics."

The blonde stroked the sharp angle of Lexa's cheek.  She studied her face, wondering how much of her mother was reflected in it.

"What do you remember?"

Lexa closed her eyes against the feather-light touch, enjoying the way her skin tingled in all the places where Clarke's fingers had brushed against it.  "Well, my cheekbones are hers.  That, I'm sure of."

She smiled, a flush creeping into her face.  "She was beautiful, I remember that much.  Mom was French Canadian on her mother's side, and her father was Anishinaabe, so she had kind of an exotic look to her.  People were always asking where she was from."  Lexa laughed.  "It really pissed her off, actually."

Clarke smiled, imagining that the woman who'd mothered Lexa must have been just as stubborn and headstrong.

"And I remember she used to shave her legs in the car."

"What?"  Clarke couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous image.  "Why on earth?'

"Yeah. Mom started work early in the morning, and Ilian and I were always dragging ass and slowing her down. So, every day, on her way to drop us off, she'd shave her legs and put on her makeup at the red lights."

"What did she do?"

"Cleaned houses mostly."  Lexa scooted closer towards Clarke, not realizing that her hand had snaked over the smaller girls waist as she rested her chin in the tow-headed mane tucked into her chest.  "We lived in this tiny city in Northern Ontario.  It's dead most of the year, but the population just about doubles in the summer.  Mom worked on the housekeeping staff at one of the resorts, but in the offseason, she'd clean houses to help make ends meet."

Lexa was running a hand through Clarke' hair again.  The soothing touch elicited a soft sigh from the captain, who tried in vain to remind herself that such small acts of tenderness were a gateway drug.

"I remember my brother better."

She offered the information unprompted, and while the admission seemed strange at first, Clarke recognized the longing in the girl's voice, as though the goalie needed to conjure his memory to feel close to him.

"What was he like?"

"The best."  Clarke could hear the warm in Lexa's voice.

"Ilian was already ten when I was born.  Both of our parents were worked constantly so, more often than not, he took care of me.  He was everything; my babysitter; my best friend."

Lexa hunkered down in the sheets, resting her forehead against Clarke's as she stared at the azure of her eyes, marveling at how bright they looked, even under the darkness of the bed covers.

"He was hilarious.  People couldn't stop laughing when he was around."

She pulled Clarke closer, her hand moving from her hair to her back.  She stroked small lines down the curve of her spine.

"Handsome, charming, sweet."  She laughed.  "Just about every girl in Kenora was beating down our door for a date, but he never blew me off for them, not even once. And, Ilian loved to be out on the ice. That is what I remember most about him.  He was the one who taught me how to skate."

She beamed at the memory. "Ilian would drag me around the ice for hours.  He had to hold me up between his legs, but he never complained.  He was so proud when I finally learned how to stand up on my own."

Clarke grinned, imagining a miniature version of Lexa, innocent and enamored with her loving older brother.  "Did he play?"

The goalie nodded.  "He was incredible."  She traced the ridges of Clarke's spine, making her shiver.  "We had so many scouts calling our house by the time he was fifteen that our phone practically rang off the hook."  Her hand slid over the curve of Clarke's backside, caressing the sensitive flesh as the fingers trailed down her hip.  "He would have gone pro, no question.  That was a big deal for my father.  Dad would have played for the Russian national team if he hadn't left."

"But then why did he immigrate?" Clarke stammered, doing her best to ignore how good Lexa's hand felt.  

She shrugged.  "Lots of reasons; political unrest, anti-semitism, poverty, lack of opportunities. Take your pick."

She sighed, her demeanor growing noticeable more distant.  "Ilian's being a professional hockey player was my dad's whole world.  I think it was his way of getting back the opportunity he'd lost. After he died, I tried..."

Lexa grew reflective for a moment, bitting back whatever was on her tongue.  "Those were big shoes to fill. I don't know if my father even wanted kids. I think having kids was mostly my mother's decision, but Ilian he could handle. My dad had no idea what to do with a girl.  After the accident, he was angry pretty much all the time.  I think a part of him resented being stuck alone with me."

She cleared her throat, dislodging the lump that had formed there.  "So that's my tragic backstory.  What about you?"

Clarke shifted uncomfortably, forgetting that her stake in the revealing conversation had been an equal one. 

"Alright, fine."  Clarke closed her eyes, willing herself to remain unemotional.  "My father died of cancer during my Junior year of high school."

Lexa waited in vain for her to elaborate, staring at her expectantly when she failed to offer any more detail.

"That's it?"

"What else is there to say?"

The brunette frowned skeptically.  "Hey, I gave you my gory details. I was kinda expecting more words."

 Clarke groaned. "What do you want to know?"

Lexa considered the question carefully.  "Where you close?"

"Very."

"What kind of cancer was it?"

"Lung."

"Did he smoke?"

"Never around me, but yes. I grew up in rural Northern Minnesota, everybody smoked."

Lexa waited patiently for more details, recognizing that the subject was a difficult one.  She allowed Clarke to hide her face, burying it in the crook of the brunette's arm as she continued.

"I grew up in a tiny town."

"How tiny," Lexa encouraged her.

 "Less than two thousand people tiny.  Warroad, Minnesota. My dad was a hometown hero there.  He'd been a big deal in high school, set a bunch of state records, had his hockey jersey hanging in the local rink, the whole nine yards.  I think everyone thought that my father was going to wind up in the NHL, but it didn't work out that way.  He met my mom in college and ended up back in Warroad, working for city services.  Hockey never stopped being a part of his life though.  He taught the learn to skate program.  He helped run the youth leagues. I don't think there was a single kid in town who didn't have him as an instructor of a coach at some point.  He coached me from the house league all the way through high school.  Everybody knew him.  Everybody loved him."

"Sounds like a great guy."  Lexa attempted a smile in Clarke's direction, but something in the American's ordinarily clear eyes had become distant and detached. 

"He was the best.  Because my mother worked as a travel nurse, he was my primary parent.  I couldn't stand being put in daycare when I was little, so he took me everywhere with him.  He'd bring me on odd jobs he did around town. When he drove the Zamboni at the local rink, I'd be sitting on his lap steering. In the winter when he drove a plow truck for the city,  he'd bundle me up, and we'd hit the road together.  We'd drive around in the plow all day drinking hot chocolate and eating donuts.  I honestly couldn't have asked for a more patient, loving father.  He was just..."

Her voice cracked, and she paused to collect herself.  "My dad was the kindest man I've ever met.  He really would have given the shirt off of his back if someone had needed it."

Lexa senses the hesitation in her voice.  "But?"

"But he didn't take good care of himself.  Between work, and coaching, and help out at the local rink, my dad wore himself ragged.  He never took a break, never slowed down, and didn't pay much attention to his health.  He smoked too much, probably drank too often, and didn't go to the doctor regularly. He was a tough guy, and he was in pretty great shape. Most of the time he just powered through it."

Lexa could feel Clarke stifle a small sob against her side. "But then he got sick?"

"Yeah.  Right at the beginning of my Junior year developed a cough that went on for weeks.  My mother and I kept telling him he needed to see a doctor, but he insisted it was from all the cold air in the rink.  Then he started getting hoarse, and his shoulder started hurting.  By the time he went to see a physician, he could barely lift his arm.  The pain turned out to be coming from all the fluid that had built up around his lung because of adenocarcinoma.  He was stage 3A by the time he was diagnosed."

"Is that pretty bad?"  Given the ending to Clarke's story, Lexa didn't know why she was bothering to ask.  Still, it seemed like an appropriate question.

"The survival rate is about thirty percent. Dad was upbeat, considering the odds.  He charged into chemo and radiation head on, and for a while, it seemed like he was going to be the exception to the rule."

Clarke sniffed again.  She kept her head buried in Lexa's arm, determined not to let the goalie see that her eyes welling up. 

"But, then we found out that his cancer had spread.  At that point, the survival odds were pretty low, and the doctors recommended they take measures to make him as pain-free as possible while he got his affairs in order.  The thing is..." Clarke's voice broke, and she stopped, resolved not to lose face.

"I wanted him to get better so badly that I think he felt like he'd be letting me down if he didn't try.  He did another round of chemo, another round of radiation  The second time around it took the life out of him.  It dragged on longer than it should have.  When the doctors told him it had spread to his brain, he said he'd finally had enough.  They helped make him comfortable, but by then he wasn't really himself anymore.  He'd lost half of his body weight.  He could barely get out of bed.  Towards the end, he was kind of non-compos mentis.  He barely recognized me."

Lexa could feel the wet warmth of the stubborn captain's tears as the slipped onto her skin and slid down her ribs.  "Clarke, that's awful. You must have been heartbroken."

"That's the strange thing."

Clarke rubbed the moisture from her eyes with the back of a hand. "I should have been sad, but I only remember being angry.  I was mad at him for not going to the doctor sooner, for not being able to get better, for missing all of my games."

She choked back a short, nervous giggle, betraying her emotional turmoil.  "I was so furious at my dad that I even quit hockey for a while."

"Sometimes, it's easier to feel angry than sad or hurt,"  Lexa whispered softly, stroking Clarke's back as she attempted to imagine a world in which Clarke wasn't a hockey player.  The truth was, the American played with so much passion that it was hard to envision her doing anything else. "What made you go back?"

Clarke leaned into Lexa's body, clinging to the girl's powerful frame as though it were a life raft.

"For a while, I couldn't bear to be in that rink.  If I wasn't walking past an old picture of my dad in the lobby, I was standing for the anthem under his jersey or getting dressed in a locker room that was dedicated to him.  It was like being in a mausoleum."

The captain finally relaxed, exhaling all her overwhelming emotions in one long heavy breath. "But then I realized that the rink was where I felt most connected to him."

She smiled, running a few fingers across Lexa's chest.  "After he died, the world felt so empty of him, almost like he's never even existed. But in that rink..."  She laughed to herself.  "It was like time had stopped in there.  It was like he was still seventeen, scoring the winning goal against Roseau and getting carried around on people's shoulders.  It sounds stupid, but it was the one place where he still felt alive."

For the second time that night Lexa kissed the top of Clarke's head, feeling a strange sense of responsibility for the girl.

"That doesn't sound stupid at all." The goalie shifted, cradling Clarke's body against her own and allowing the exhausted center to rest her head in the crook of her shoulder.

"You look tired."

Clarke nodded sleepily, her eyes drooping.  "Slow emotional replay kind of takes it out of me."  She curled up against Lexa's side; her arm draped lazily over the taller girl's middle.  "Do you mind if I..."

"No, go ahead.  Get some sleep.  It was a long day."

Lexa peered down to find Clarke already lifeless, fast asleep against her torso.  Tucking a sinewed arm behind her head, the goalie decided to follow suit, worn out from the long and draining day.  When she woke, hours later, she woke alone, a short note resting beside her bed.

 _Had to get back for game tape review.  Thanks for letting me crash._   - Clarke

Unsure how to process everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours Lexa stared at the ceiling.  She ran her hands through her hair anxiously, and pulled a pillow towards her, catching the lingering hint of Clarke's perfume that clung to its fabric.  The smell evoked the wild, thoughtless abandon that Lexa felt every time Clarke was near her.   It was safe to say that few others had inspired in the Canadian as eager and needy a sense of desire.  But, Lexa couldn't help but admit that there was something else mixed in there.  She pressed her face into the pillow and inhaled the remaining traces of Clarke that clung there, suddenly feeling desperately lonely.  Without the small, warm body pressed against hers, the bed felt very cold, and altogether too empty.  Slowly, it dawned on the goalie that her two-night stand with Clarke had become something else entirely.  The realization was not wholly a welcome one, and a fretful Lexa worried that perhaps she had gotten herself into something more than that for which she'd bargained. 

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	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Echo spit a mouthful of blood and crushed ice chips onto the jack-o-lantern face of the rink.  The game should have been an effortless one for the defending gold medalists, but after Canada had scored its third goal, twenty-one minutes into the game, the play had descended into the kind of savagery characteristic of an opposing team with nothing to lose and everything to prove.  Finland had still lost the game by five points, but after three periods the ice was hacked to bits, carved into fresh powder, and loose debris by the sharpened blades of Bauers and CCM skates.  The defenseman wiped at the remains of the sanguineous saliva dribbling down her chin, wincing at the way the swollen laceration on her lower lip throbbed.

[[MORE]]

"That looks like it needs a stitch."

Echo turned just in time to catch the towel her goaltender had tossed to her.

"It'll be a helluva scar though."  She pressed the cool fabric to her lips, allowing the terrycloth to soak up the remaining blood on her chin.

"What happened anyway?  I couldn't see from all the way down here."  Lexa pulled off her helmet, wiping the sweat off her brow.

"I tried to poke the puck away from that wiry little forward, but her stick rode up mine and hit me right in the mouth."

"Serves you right for giving me so little to do during that game."

"Jealous that you didn't get to hog the spotlight this time?"

Lexa smirked.  "Well, at least now you more like a hockey player than a Victoria Secret model."

Echo rolled her eyes.  "Blow it out your ass, Woods."

A casual observer would have assumed that the exchange was another flare-up in the bitter rivalry that had been souring their relationship since the moment Lexa had joined the team.  There was, however, a playfulness to their exchanges now; a tentative, enemies turned friends quality that signaled a thaw in the longstanding iciness between them.

"So..."  Echo tossed the blood-stained towel back at her teammate. " Beers at Canada house later?"

"Oh... Yeah."  Lexa tried not to show her excitement at being invited out with her teammates a second time. "For sure!"

Echo rolled her eyes again, not at all fooled by the sinewy girl's show of nonchalance.  "Ok, weirdo. I'll see you there after I get this sewn up."  With that, the defenseman wiped her chin a final time and skated in the direction or the boards.

* * *

Clarke crouched low, her shoulder aggressively leaning into the face-off-circle.  The black disk hit the ice, landing with a hollow thud, and before Clarke could react, she felt the blunt point of an elbow connecting with the cage of her helmet, knocking her onto the ice.  She heard the sound of her helmet colliding with the rock-hard surface of the rink; the clatter of it reverberating in her ears.  In the fog of her confusion, she could make out the faint sound of the whistle being blown.

"Elbowing! Major penalty!  Five minutes!"

Clarke rose from the ice slowly, her vision swimming for a moment before the rink came back into focus.  Then her head gave a painful pulse, and the world suddenly felt razor sharp and far too loud.  Careful not to wobble, she skated over to the bench, following her teammates who had been called over by a scowling Kane.

The grizzled Northern Minnesotan coach looked over his players with fatherly concern, noticing each wince and every choppy stride brought on by the lumps the girls had been taking during the game.

"Is anyone hurt?  Does anyone need to come off the ice?"

A sea of reluctant shaking heads met his question, a response which the coach sincerely doubted.

"Ladies, this has been an extremely physical game.  I've never before seen play quite this dirty, nor do I think that there is any need to point out to you how prejudicial the referees are being. Mark my words, the committee will be hearing about this from me, but unfortunately, that is a matter for after the game."

Kane looked around sternly.  "You're ahead two-zero.  There are only three minutes left in this game, and right now the only thing this Swiss team cares about is keeping you from that shutout.  I want this win as badly as anyone, but there's no sense in letting yourselves get injured out of pride.  We've got plenty of young players looking for ice time, and we're not even into the playoff rounds.  If you're hurting, speak up right now."

The players remained silent, deepening Kane's frown.  He looked over at his goalie, panting as she leaned against the boards.  "What about you, Reyes?  You look beat."

Raven shook her head vigorously, beads of sweat dripping off her forehead, her expression a look of pure, dogged determination.  "No way.  I want that goose egg."

Kane scanned the crowd of players.  Harper was holding her side where a vicious elbow had caught her in the second period, and Octavia was nursing an angry looking fat lip form an errant stick, but it was Clarke about whom he was most worried.  His leading scorer had born the brunt of the Swiss team's physical punishment, dominating her from the moment she'd stepped on the ice.  He peered down at her now as she leaned a hand on the boards for balance, apparently still trying to shake off her last collision with the ice.

"You look like hell, Griffin.  I'm taking you off the ice."

The blonde woman shook her head slowly.  She pulled up the cage of her helmet, finally looking at him as she grabbed a water bottle and blasted her face off with cold liquid.

"I've got this, Coach."

His mouth puckered, considering whether or not he should buy her tough act.  "That last hit you took was pretty hard.  You're sure you aren't feeling concussed?"

Clarke shook her head.  "It rattled my cage pretty hard, but I don't need to come off."  She attempted to demonstrate her level of cognitive clarity by touching the tips of each of the fingers of her right hand to the adjacent thumb, one of the concussion tests she knew Kane would insist on her undergoing later.

Kane considered her a moment longer.  "And your knee?"

"It's on fire, actually,” the words ran through Clarke’s head, though she fought the impulse to telling.  If she could make it through a season of aches and pains from the treacherous joint, she could make it through the next three minutes. "I'm good, Coach."

He nodded apprehensively.  "All right then, get back out there.  We've got a power play to kill."

* * *

"Ouch!"

The women gathered around the table at Canada House admired the stitches in Echo's lip as she displayed her war wound with pride.

"How many is that?"  Gaia peered in, squinting her eyes.

"Just three, and two on the inside.  No big deal."

"Won't you be bothered by the scar?"  Emori leaned in peering at the puckered flesh.

Echo shrugged nonchalantly.  "I'll go see a plastic surgeon once we're back in Canada if it heals badly.  Until then all I care about is standing on top of that medal platform."  She took a sip of her beer, wincing as the carbonated liquid hit the delicate stitching of her laceration.  "Besides, with this face, I think I can make the whole lip scar thing work for me."

"And even if you can't, you've got that incredible humility of yours to compensate for it,"  Lexa smirked as she sipped her lager.

"As if you're one to talk, Woods."  If the jab she'd taken at Lexa sounded shrewd, no hint of animosity was evident on Echo's face.  The women gathered at the table were surprised to find their Captain smiling playfully at the star goalie.

"Don't tell me you two have finally learned to play nice."  Gaia gave her roommate a knowing look.

"We're cool for now," Echo shrugged.  "So long as this one helps us keep that sweet, sweet gold out of the hands of our southern neighbors."  Echo closed her eyes and tipped back a long swig of beer, smiling ruefully as though the amber liquid tasted of victory.

Gaia winked at Lexa.  "I don't know, Woods.  Clarke Griffin gave you a pretty good run for your money last game.  You think you can shut her down if we go toe to toe for gold?"

Echo chuckled between sips of beer.  "If this game gets any more brutal she might not have to." She nodded her head towards the giant flatscreen at the front of the room, where an determine Swiss national team continued to beat up on their American counterparts, fighting furiously to score.

With three minutes left in the game, there would have been plenty of time for a turnaround had the Swiss team not been so obviously outmatched.  The brutality of the play was a clear indication of the Swiss team's frustration; a fact evident to Lexa as she watched a Swiss player snag the skate of an American defenseman with the blade of her stick.  The referee raised his hand and blew the whistle, indicating a penalty.

"Really? She only got a minor for that?" Lexa was baffled given the obviousness of the offense.

"I'm surprised the ref called it at all, honestly."  Echo sipped her beer, staring at the screen.  "That's the same blowhard who was railroading us the other night.  He's been even worse in this game."

The girls continued to sip their beers watching the screen distractedly between side conversations and swigs of beer. 

"Hopefully, we don't get that idiot in the final round."  Echo rolled her eyes.  No matter for the Yanks though, they're about to wrap this thing up."

The women watched as the final minute of the game ticked off.  In the last thirty seconds of play, Octavia Blake caught the puck along the boards and sailed it out to a waiting Clarke, who shucked a Swiss defenseman, heading down the open ice.  It was a clean breakaway on a power play, and it had every certainty of yielding a goal. With twenty seconds left, the Swiss player in the penalty box was released just as Clarke crossed center ice, making a beeline for the for the oncoming center.

“Oh, shit!”  Echo’s eye went wide, as did everyone else’s in the room as the people gathered watching what happened next.

Lexa looked on in horror as the Swiss player flew towards Clarke and bent low, ramming her shoulder into the thigh just above the American Captain’s bad knee.  The force of the collision sent the small center flying over her opponents back.  She tumbled through space, spinning in a full circle, her body contouring at a strange angle.  As the final buzzer sounded, signaling the game's end, Clarke landed flat on her back, her body slack and lifeless.

Every face in the Canadian hospitality house was now locked on the screen, staring at the limp body lying motionless on the ice. The remaining players hurried to clear off the rink as Team USA’s coach and trainers scrambled across the slick playing surface, desperate to get to the injured Captain.  They huddled around Clarke, shrouding her from view.  What seemed like an eternity passes before a roar finally went up from the crowd.  Astoundingly, the Captain had fought to her feet and was managing to skate off the ice, unassisted, though the act was a monumental struggle.  Lexa couldn’t help but notice that Clarke was barely putting weight on her bad leg.

“I’ll be damned.”  Echo shook her head, marveling at the display.  “Can you believe she was able to shake off a hit like that?” She turned in Lexa’s direction, eager to get her two cents, but the goalie was nowhere to be found.  Confused, the Canadian Captain searched the room for her teammate, catching just a glimpse of the goalie just as she hurriedly disappeared through the front door.

“Where’s she off too in such a hurry?”  Gaia cocked a curious eyebrow towards the door, having noticed the brunette’s abrupt departure as well.

“No idea,” Echo shrugged, but her curious gaze remained fixed on the still swinging doors to Canada House, her brow furrowing.

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	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Lexa jogged down the cavernous hallway of the Gangneung Ice Center, narrowly avoiding collisions with the swarm of spectators still flowing out of the rink.  Here and there, people pointed at her, murmuring feverishly as they realized who had just brushed past them, but Lexa ignored their excitement.  She was a woman on a mission, too preoccupied with the task at hand to stop and humor.  At a set of heavy metal doors, she slowed, flashing her access pass to the uniformed men who stood guarding the entrance to the player area.  Darting through she ran headlong into a gaggle of American players toting sticks and heavy gear bag.  Lexa strained to pick up their murmured conversation as they passed.

“Do you think Clarke’s really ok?”

“She says she’s fine.”

“Did Coach have Jackson checker her out?”

“She said she didn’t need him to.”

“All I know is she was limping badly when she came off the ice.”

[[MORE]]

“Yeah, but she did come off the ice on her own.  I mean it’s not like anyone had to help her off.”

“That check looked horrible.  I don’t know how Griff was walking after that.”

“Well anyway, Raven stayed behind to talk to her.  Maybe she can convince…”

The conversation stopped abruptly when the women noticed Lexa.  Each one cast concerned glances her way as they pasted, eyeing her suspiciously as she headed down the hall.  Lexa made a point of walking past the American locker room, doubling back when she was sure the other players were out of sight.

“You're being ridiculous!”  She could hear the sound of someone yelling could through the door.  Before Lexa could even grab the handle, it swung open, revealing an irate Raven Reyes, her face red from arguing.

“Oh, great!”  Raven threw her hands in the air, looking Lexa up and down doubtfully.  “Well, maybe you can talk some sense into her!” In a huff, Raven stomped out into the hallway and disappeared towards the busses.

Clarke sighed, looking skeptically in the Canadian goalie's direction. Still was half clad in hockey pants, shin guards and skates, she shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

“What are you doing here, Woods?”

The tone of Clarke’s greeting took Lexa by surprise, more irritable and exhausted than happy to see her.  Lexa felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her.  “What was she doing there?” she wondered.  Granted she hadn’t known the American Captain very long, but as she’d watched the violent scene unfold on television, she'd been filled with the distinct sensations of terror and worry, followed by a terrible need to find out if Clarke was hurt.  Lexa remembered being sure of her purpose as she’s dashed out of Canada house and grabbed the first available ride to the rink, but now, she couldn’t quite place what her plan had been.  Had she merely wanted to know if Clarke was injured?  Had she meant to confront the Swiss player and defend her friend's honor?  “Friend,” the word bounced around in Lexa's head echoing off the far walls of her conscious.  Was that even what they were?

"I..." She stammered.

Clarke leaned forward, her eyebrows arching towards her hairline expectantly.

"I just wanted to see if you were alright."  She shoved her hands in her pockets awkwardly, totally unsure of herself.

Clarke sighed, avoiding the tall Canadian's gaze.  "I'm fine."  She frowned as she began unlacing her skates.  "Looks like you're not off the hook for the playoffs."

There was a touch of bitterness to that statement that felt underserved, and it wounded Lexa more than it should have.

"Hey,"  Lexa clenched her jew, annoyed that her concern was being dismissed as competitiveness.  "I don't care about that.  I was worried about you."

"Well, don't be.”

Clarke continued to avoid her gaze as she pulled her second skate off, though Lexa could hear the subtle tremor in her voice.  The blonde pushed off her hockey pants, tearing off her game socks and making quick work of her shin guards, all of which she thrust frustratedly into the large gear bag in front of her.  Clad only in a Bauer neck protector shirt and compression pants, Clarke forced herself up off of the bench carefully.  Lexa noticed the way she clung to her stick for balance, taking great care to keep her weight on her good leg as she attempted to step over her equipment.

"I'm absolutely…”

Before she could finish the statement Clarke's foot caught in the loose strap of her bag, and she jerked forward, off balance.  Reflexively, she stuck out the other foot to stop her fall, bringing all of her weight down on her injured leg.

The second pressure shifted to her wounded limb it buckled, and Clarke let out an agonized cry that raised the hair on Lexa's neck.  The goalie lunged forward, catching Clarke around her shoulders just before she toppled to the ground.

"I don't need your help,"  Clarke groaned through gritted teeth.

Lexa sighed, trying to be patient with the stubborn woman.

"At least let me help you to the training room so you can ice that thing."

Clarke's eyes were screwed shut in anguish, her breathing ragged as she fought the pain coursing through her leg.  Swallowing her pride, she nodded, and Lexa slipped one hand around Clarke's back.  She slung the smaller woman's arm over her shoulders and held it in place, bracing her around her mid-torso as she pulled Clarke up.  Lexa walked forward cautiously, allowing the injured skater to use her as a crutch as they made their way through the swinging doors of the training room.  Once inside, she eased Clarke down onto the padded table top, gently picking up her legs to swing them over.

Clarke braced her hands on the table’s edge and leaned to one side, keeping as much weight as possible off her weak leg.  She attempted to ease herself down slowly, reaching to pull her pants off.  As soon as her weight settled, she grasped the table again, desperately pushing herself back up. Unable to let go, she cast an abashed glanced at Lexa.

"Can you," her eyes darted towards her waistband.

As respectfully as she could, Lexa gripped the top of Clarke's compression pants and began pulling them down.  She stopped abruptly when she saw the blonde wince.

"Stop!"  Clarke grimaced, gasping for breath.  "Go slow, ok?"

“Sorry! Sorry!”  Wordlessly, Lexa began her ministrations again, moving with as much care as she could muster.  She pulled back the stretchy black fabric, rolling it down Clarke's leg with great hesitation.  As soon as Lexa passed the material over the top third of Clarke' thighs the black and blue of a large and angry contusion began to show along the muscles of her right leg.  A few inches more and the bruising looked even worse

"How I sit?"  Clarke forced through clenched teeth.

"Clarke..."  Lexa felt a cold chill shoot up her spine as she realized the extent of the damage.  "I don't have any medical training, but this looks pretty bad."

"How's the knee?"

Lexa anxiously pulled back the fabric a few inches more, observing the knee thoughtfully.  Like the quad, the knee was bruised, though not as swollen as Lexa expected.  "I'm not sure.  I don't know what I am supposed to be looking for, Clarke, but I really think you need to get this checked out by a doctor."

The American ventured a quick peek at her leg.  Grimacing, she turned away quickly.  She swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit.

"Well, at least it hasn't swelled up like a water balloon.  That's a good sign."  Clarke exhaled a long, slow breath, trying to stop her mind from racing.

"Can't you get me some...?"

"Ice, right!"  Lexa finished the sentence, dashing off to the cooler and filling two bags with ice shavings.  She returned to the table, placing them against the warm, swollen flesh of Clarke's leg.

"Here, hand me that," Clarke pointed to stretch-wrap, stuck on a handle at the end of the table.  Lexa passed it over obligingly, pulling up a chair up as she watched as Clarke skillfully secure the ice to her leg.

"Where did you learn how to do that?"  Lexa smiled, trying to break the tension with small talk.  "I even touch that stuff, and it's wadded up, tangled mess."

Clarke focused on the cylinder of plastic wrap, her eyes never leaving her work.  "I told you, my mom was a nurse."  She continued wrapping, binding the bags in place.  "She knew my dad was terrible with blood, so she taught me basic first aid when I was really little."  She finished securing the ice, and tore the plastic, fastening it expertly.  "Also, I spent some time interning with our trainers when I got injured."

Clarke leaned back a bit, finally able to settle her weight now that the cold ice was numbing her injury.  "When I first hurt my knee it wasn't clear that I would be able to play again.  I had no idea what I was going to do, so our trainer let me work with him for a while to see if I might have an interest in sports medicine.”

"Did you enjoy it?"  The goalie smiled at her sympathetically.

Clarke shrugged, examining her handiwork.  The blonde leaned forward, looking defeated. She pulled her uninjured leg into her chest, hiding her face against it.  "I guess it was an ok alternative."

Lexa hung awkwardly at the side of the table, unsure what to say that might help Clarke.  Just as she was about to speak, she heard a muffled sob escape the blonde, then another.  Lexa stared silently as Clarke finally unraveled, weeping softly into her curled leg.  Lexa began to get up, convinced that Clarke would want to space to fall apart alone.  To her surprise, however, the American reached out, grabbing her hand.

"This isn't fair."  The words slipping out between choked sobs and forced Lexa her back into the chair.  Unable to offer any other comfort, she simply held Clarke's hand and allowed her to cry.

"I know it isn't. I know"

* * *

Lexa wasn't sure how long they had stayed like that, camped out in the deserted rink while they waited for the swelling on Clarke's leg to subside.  The whole time the brunette sat patiently, assuring her companion that she had nowhere else to be

"It takes as long as it takes," she'd assured the blonde calmly between trips to the cooler for fresh ice.

When Clarke was finally able to put weight on the leg, they departed the rink cautiously, careful not to be spotted by errant fans.  Chivalrous to a fault, Lexa slung Clarke's gear over her shoulder, her other arm braced securely around the little center's waist as she helped her out of the rink and into a waiting cab.  They'd ridden back in relative silence, a quietly crying Clarke curled into her side as Lexa attempted to give directions to their driver.

"Around the back, please.  Away from people."

By the time they arrived at the dormitories, discretion was hardly a concern.  The hour was late, and the streets of Olympic Village were deserted, save for a few roving security patrols.  None-the-less, Lexa did Clarke the courtesy of sneaking her up the service elevators, wary of allowing anyone to see her condition.  They moved slowly enough that it took twice as long to help her back to her room, but Lexa never once complained.

When they'd finally reached Clarke's suite, the girl stiffened. She squeezed Lexa's shoulder gently to stop her and apprehensively stared at the door.

"Raven," she whispered.  “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

Lexa nodded, easing her worn out companion delicately to the floor.

"Pass me your key card."   She hitched the gear bag higher on her shoulder.  "I'll check and make sure the coast is clear.

Clarke slipped the card from her pocket, mouthing a silent "thank you."

Lexa slid the key into the electronic lock and easing the door open as quietly when the light turned green.  She slunk inside slowly, tiptoeing through the short hallway to peer into the bedroom.  Lexa breathed a sigh of relief, observing that Raven's bed was unoccupied, the sheets still made perfectly.  She set Clarke's gear bag down in the corner, returning to the dim glow of the hall.

"You're safe.  No one is here."

Clarke looked relieved.  She attempted to get up but abandoning the effort when her leg throbbed in pain.  By now Lexa knew better than to wait for the Captain to ask for her help.  She crouched down, motioning for Clarke to place her hand on her shoulders as she snaked her other arm under the blonde’s legs.  It took tremendous effort, but Lexa managed to push herself up.  She cradled the smaller girl against her chest, her arms straining under the surprising weight of Clarke’s toned body.  After a few attempts, Lexa managed to turn the door handle with the point of her elbow, taking great care not to bump her companion’s leg as she backed them into the room.  Gently, she made her way over to the bed, straining to place Clarke down without aggravating her injury.

"Here."  Lexa lifted her leg carefully, sliding an extra pillow beneath the knee for support.  She slipped off Clarke's sneakers and placed them neatly by the dresser.

"Medicine?"

Clarke pointed to the bathroom.  "There's an industrial sized bottle of Ibuprofen on the sink."

Lexa crept through the dark quietly, returning a moment later with a handful of pills and glass full of liquid.  She took a seat on the edge of the bed, handing both items to Clarke.  Never one to enjoy tablets, the blonde tried not to gag as she forced herself to swallow the medicine, washing it down with a giant swig of water.

"Thank you," Clarke whispered as she sank back into the pillows, her eyelids drooping.

Lexa grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and pulled it over the exhausted woman.  She watched as Clarke shifted, adjusting her body warily until she'd found a comfortable position.

"Clarke," she bit her lip nervously, hesitant to leave without ensuring that the stubborn girl was going to take proper care of herself.  "I really think that you need to get your leg examined."

"I will."  Clarke sighed her expression one of disheartened resignation.  "Just give me tonight.  If it's not better by tomorrow, I'll go to our trainers."

Lexa nodded, satisfied for the moment that the American was acting responsibly about her well-being.  She tugged the covers up a bit higher over Clarke's shoulder, filled with the urge to stay and keep watch, though she knew that she should leave before Raven returned.  Lexa stroked her fingers over Clarke's weary brow, cocking a crooked smile.  In spite of the emotional chaos of the evening, there was something strangely satisfying about the night she'd spent helping Clarke.  She tucked several straying strands of golden hair behind her ear and watched as her eyelids finally fluttered closed.

Sure that she was no longer needed, Lexa began to rise from the bed, fighting the urge to kiss her companion goodbye.  Before she could leave, Clarke's voice halted her in her tracks.

“Stay."

It was spoken softly, more a plea than a request, and the word tugged on Lexa's heartstrings.  Without a second thought, she slid off her shoes and lowered herself back onto the bed.  The goalie slid beneath the covers, careful not to disturb her half-sleeping companion as she curled up against her.

"I'm here."  Lexa's arm slid protectively over Clarke's waist, pulling her closer.  "I'm not going anywhere."

Next Chapter ->

* * *

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	12. Chapter 12

* * *

The dream was the same as always, darkness and the sound of glass shattering followed by silence and the terrible sting of the cold night air.  The wind bit at her nose and cheeks and something pressed down on her shoulder, crushing her tiny body with its weight.

Lexa woke with a start, her senses slowly returning as she peered around the dark space.  The shades were down, but sunlight slipped in through the cracks, casting eerie shadows across the room and illuminating the blurry figure hovering over her.  She rubbed her eyes, her vision finally focusing on the frowning face of Raven Reyes, who knelt over the bed, clutching twin paper cups of dining hall coffee.  She placed one of the cups on the bedside table and tilted her head toward the door of the room, which she disappeared through without a word.

[[MORE]]

Lexa untangled herself from the sheets, taking great care not to wake Clarke, who remained tucked into the brunette's chest, fast asleep.  She groped in the semi-dark for her shoes, slipping them on as she grabbed the coffee and snuck out of the room. The door had barely closed behind her before Raven pounced.

"You're sleeping over now?  Is there a U-Haul parked outside somewhere?"

Lexa gripped her coffee cup a little tighter, rattled by the girl's intensity and nowhere near awake enough to handle the third degree.

"What time is it?"

"Five AM, now answer my question."

"Clarke asked me to stay."

The corners of Raven's mouth rounded downward into a scowl, her eyes narrowing in disapproval.  "Did you manage to convince Clarke to get her leg looked at?"

Lexa sipped the coffee guiltily, trying to buy enough time to come up with a good excuse.

"No."

Raven rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the answer.  "Damn it, Woods, I was counting on you!" 

"I'm sorry."  Lexa fidgeted with her coffee cup, nervously wondering why she hadn't tried harder to talk sense into Clarke.  Then again, she thought, why hadn't Raven if it was so important?

"What about you? You could have stayed and helped me instead of just disappearing."

Raven scowled.  "I did not just disappear.  I went to find our coach, who was off screaming to the IOC about that sad-ass excuse for a referee.  Kane left right after the game ended; otherwise, he would have insisted on Clarke getting examined."  She glanced at the door, lowering her voice.  "Did you at least get a look at it?"

Lexa nodded.

"And?"

"Honestly?"  The goalie shuffled in place, rubbing her neck nervously.  "I mean, I'm not a doctor," she skirted the question, swallowing the guilt that welled up as she thought about the angry, purple bruising along Clarke's thigh.  "She said that if it didn't feel better this morning, she'd have it checked out by your trainers."

Frustrated, Raven ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the roots as she clenched her jaw tightly.  Lexa watched the muscles in her cheeks flex as she ground her teeth together, her irritation evident.  After a few moments of tense silence, Lexa cleared her throat, attempting to change the subject.

"Look, I don't know Clarke that well but..."

"That's right." The statement seemed to call Raven back from whatever had been on her mind. Her attention snapped to Lexa, completely focused on the goalie's features as she stared her down.  "You don't know her that well, but I do."  She let out a sharp breath, sipping more of her coffee as she surveyed the hallways to make sure they were still alone.

"Woods, listen to me.  I've known that girl since she was seventeen.  Clarke is my best friend."  

Raven ran a  hand over her tired face, massaging the slightly purple bags that had formed under her dark eyes.  "She's more than stubborn; she's downright unreasonable.  Winning gold means everything to her. She's not going to let anything get in the way of that, even if it means risking a permanent injury."

Raven's face softened.  "Do you know why it took Clarke more than a year to rehabilitate her knee?"

Lexa shook her head, waiting for the American goalie to illuminate her.

"It took her so long because she nearly re-injured it halfway through rehab.  She was pushing too hard, and she put a micro tear in the cadaver ligament she'd received."  Raven stared at her seriously.  "Look, if you're going to be sticking around, you've got to understand how intense Clarke is.  She doesn't know when to quit.  She'll work herself into her grave if you let her."

Lexa's face fell, her guilt growing as she realized how little she'd done to convince Clarke to get her leg appropriately treated.

"So," the American goaltender stared at her Canadian counterpart skeptically. "Are you?"

Lexa looked up, confused by Raven's question.  "Am I what?"

"Are you sticking around?"

Lexa bit her lip apprehensively, unsure how much she wanted to admit to Clarke's closest friend.

"I'd like to," she paused.  "If she'll let me."

Raven bowed her head, staring at her toes thoughtfully.  "Maybe she will,"  she looked up, her expression deadly serious.  "But, if you care about her you'll help her make the right decision, especially when she refuses to make it for herself."

* * *

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?"

Clarke rolled her eyes at her father, smiling at his telltale smirk as he beamed down at her.  Warm yellow light from the afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the old rink, making Jake's face glow.

"Very funny, Dad."

"I'm just saying."  His eyes sparkle with mischief. "I remember this place being warmer when you were a kid."

He shoved his daughter with his elbow, smiling at her reverentially as he gave her the once-over.  "How ya been, Kid?"

Clarke shrugged.  "Tired."

"Of the game?"

"No," she shook her head.  "That's the one thing I never get tired of."

Clarke sighed and leaned into her father's side, burrowing herself into the old, flannel lined corduroy jacket that he was never without.  She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old spice, bay rum, and stale tobacco that always seemed to cling to him.

"Still smoking?"

"I'll quit when I'm dead."

"Not funny." She frowned, surprised to find that a lump was forming at the back of her throat.  "I miss you," Clarke barely managed to eke out as she forced back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"I miss you too, Kid."  Jake wrapped one of his strong arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter to him, gazing back at the rink as the shotgun crack of a slap shot broke the silence of the arena.

They stared down at the ice, watching as the puck sailed into the outstretched glove of a goalie.  Clarke watched at the goaltender curiously, recognizing the curly tendrils that peaked out from underneath her helmet.

"Who's the sieve?"

"I, um..."  Clarke fumbled for a way to explain Lexa's odd appearance in her dreamscape.  "Dad, what's she doing here?"

"You tell me, Kid." Jake smiled as he watched the masked figure discard the puck from her glove and crouch lower, readying herself for another shot.  "Never knew you had a thing for goalies."

Clarke felt the blood rush to her face, the blush spreading all the way across her cheeks to the tip of her ears.  "Dad!"

"What?"  He flashed a grin at her.  "You old man can't ask about your love life?"

Clarke blushed even harder, sure that by now, she had turned beet red.  "It's just," she paused thinking of all the conversations they'd never been able to have.  "I never got a chance to tell you..."

"That you're into brunettes?"

"Dad..." Clarke narrowed her eyes, imploring him to solemnity.  "Please, be serious."

Jake's face softened as he pulled her closer.  He stared down at her with a look the reflected nothing but pure, unconditional adoration.  "Kid, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I hadn't really figured it out yet."  Clarke sighed, burying herself farther into her father's side, thoroughly embarrassed.

Jake patted his daughter's shoulder reassuringly, thinking for a moment. "I always wondered why you never went through that boy-crazy phase your mother kept warning me was coming."

 "I thought I was just focused," she shrugged.  "Are you mad?"

There was a pause, and then to Clarke's surprise, a giant roar burst from Jake's lips.  "Kid..." His sides shook as deep belly laughter doubled him over, making his eyes water.  "My one dream in life was that I’d never lose you to some boy."  He wiped tears from his eyes, taking a moment to let his chuckling subside.  "I couldn't be happier."

It took a moment, but Jake finally managed regained his composure.  He winked at his daughter.  "So you like this girl?"

"I do," she nodded.

"Like, or like?"  He emphasized the last word, cocking one eyebrow.

Clarke avoided his gaze, feeling suddenly awkward.  She shuffled her feet nervously.  "I haven't known her very long.  I'm not sure yet.”

Jake's expression became wistful.  "You know," he paused, pondering something for a moment.  "I knew how I felt about your mother five seconds after I met her."  He nudged his daughter in the ribs, playfully.  "Some things, Clarke, you just know."

Clarke continued to stare at her shoes.  "You should see her play; she's so good."

"As good as you?"

Clarke's shoulders slumped, her face falling at the question.  "I'm not so sure about that these days."

"Hey..." She felt her father's fingers under her chin as he tiled her head up to look him in the eyes.  "Don't ever say that."

Clarke tried to look away, but her father held her gaze.  "I didn't teach you hockey because I loved the game.  I taught you hockey because from the moment you first put on skates I couldn't keep you off the ice.  You love to play, and you're great at it; the best."

Clarke finally looked up, acknowledging the honesty in her father's words.  She reached out a hand, squeezing her bad knee as it began to ache. "I'm not sure how long I've got left, Dad."

Jake nodded, his face solemn.  "None of us do, but you know what I always say."

"Find what you love and let it kill you."  They spoke the words at the same time, both smiling at the well-worn expression.

"Can you stay for a bit?"

Jake sighed, his eyes turning glassy.  "'Fraid not."

Clarke clenched her jaw tightly, refusing to let their last moment be a sad one.  She burrowed back into her father's side, wrapping her arms around his wiry frame as his arms encircled her one last time.

"I love you, Kid."

"I love you too, Dad."  Suddenly, the rink was dark.  The pressure of her father's strong, sturdy arms disappeared, and all Clarke could feel was a rush of cold air.  Then her eyes flickered, and she was awake, suddenly aware of a new set of arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

Lexa shifted behind her, pulling the blonde closer as she slid under the covers of the bed.  Clarke stretched a bit, turning herself so that they were facing one another.

"Hey."

"Hey," Lexa smiled apprehensively, clumsily rubbing at the back of her neck.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's ok."  Too tired to be concerned with the intimacy of the gesture, Clarke tucked herself closer into Lexa, leaning her head into the crook of the larger girl's arm.  "Where did you go?"  She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of deodorant and soap.

The goalie kissed the top of Clarke's head and ran a  hand through her disheveled locks, pushing stray blonde strands out of her face.  It was a tender gesture that, ordinarily, would have made Clarke anxious.  To the blonde's surprised, however, she found herself closing her eyes in contentment.

"That feels nice."

Lexa chuckled.  "Speaking of how things feel," she cringed, knowing that her attempt at a smooth transition had been clumsy at best. "How's the leg?"

Cautiously, Clarke began to move her ailing limb.  She stretched the leg, extending it nearly all the way before she winced at the tenderness.  "Well, I can move it at least.  She wiggled her toes, thankful to feel that she had full motion in all of them.  "No numbness or tingling in my foot."

The Canadian bit her lip, nervous to inquire any further.  "And the pain?"

Clarke attempted to bend the limb in the opposite direction, finding that it was much stiffer and more sore upon flexion.  "Well, it doesn't feel great."  She grimaced, "but, then again, it's felt worse."

"Can I take a look?"  Lexa tensed, bracing for Clarke to become defensive.  For a moment the smaller woman stiffened, but the tension in her small frame eased a second later, and Lexa felt her nod into her chest.

The brunette pushed her body upright, pulling back the covers just enough to expose Clarke's legs.  Slowly, she pushed the leg of Clarke's sweatpants up, careful not to jostle her limb as she moved.  Lexa recoiled at the sight of the angry purple bruising that seemed to have grown darker overnight.  

"Clarke," she hesitated, not wanting to upset the fierce girl tucked into her side.  "The bruising looks worse than it did last night."

Clarke nodded, surprisingly calm.  "That's normal.  She raised herself on her hands, chancing a glance at the leg.  Clarke frowned, growling in frustration as observed that the damage had not magically disappeared.  "That's just the blood losing oxygen as it raises to the surface of the injury."

"Wow," Lexa sounded genuinely impressed by her companion's savvy.  "Check you out, Dr. Griffin."

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, right."  She collapsed back against the pillows, groaning in discouragement.

"Clarke," Lexa hesitant, afraid to push the issue any further.  "You said you'd have your trainer look at your leg if it was still bothering you today."

"I know but..."  Clarke rolled closer, settling her weight against Lexa's body.  "Can we just lay here for a while? Please?"  She cuddled up against Lexa's side, sliding a hand underneath her t-shirt and trailing her fingers along sinew and rib.

Lexa shivered at Clarke's touch, her better judgment melting away as goosebumps formed along her skin.  "Yeah, sure.  We can lie here for a little longer."

Lexa shuffled down into the covers and slipped an arm over Clarke's waist, desperately trying not to grin like a fool.  She knew she should feel guilty for giving in so easily, but something about Clarke's touch, something about the way she said "please," tore at Lexa's resolve.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Clarke shook her head.  "I'm not sure I can sleep right now."  She continued to gently stroke Lexa's side with the blades of her fingers.  "Can you talk to me for a while?  Just until I fall back asleep?"

Lexa let her hand dip below Clark's sweatshirt.  She ran a flat palm over her spine and began to rub slow circles over the tense muscles of her back.  She felt almost giddy at the way Clarke' hummed into her chest, clearly enjoying herself.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Clarke breathed contentedly, thinking for a moment.  "I was pretty awful to you last night.  Why did you take care of me?"

Lexa considered how to answer the question, ultimately deciding that honestly was her best option.  She allowed herself a moment to gather the right words, and when the moment was over, stated simply, "Because, you matter to me."

"We just met though,"  Clarke peered up at her, her fingers stilling as she stared up inquisitively.  "How..." she hesitated, trying to understand how Lexa could be so sure about something in so little time.  "I mean, why?"

Unable to articulate her answer, Lexa shrugged.  "Some things you just know, I guess."

Clarke nearly froze at the brunette's words, the sound of them ringing in her ears as she remembered her dream.  Determined that it must be a coincidence, Clarke relaxed again, burying her face back into the crook of Lexa's arm.

"Well, thank you for staying."

"Of course."  Lexa leaned in, allowing her chin to rest on the top of the blonde's head.  She closed her eyes and continued to rub soothing circles up and down Clarke's back.  "What else do you want to talk about?"

Clarke thought for a moment, contemplating her options.  "Tell me about where you grew up."

Lexa laughed.  "It was called Rat Portage until 1905."

"Dare I ask why?"  Clarke laughed softly into the worn fabric of Lexa's t-shirt.

"I'm sure you can guess.  The goalie shifted her long frame, allowing Clarke to rest more of her weight on her.

"It's small, not as small as your hometown, but small enough.  In the summer, it's full of tourists and mosquitoes.  In the winter the only things to do are hole up in a bar and drink, or play hockey."

Lexa fought a grin, giggling to herself.  "Actually, there was one other thing to do in the winter."

She pinched Clarke's side playfully and earned a finger jab in return. "Very funny," Clarke murmured.  "I suppose that means you broke lots of hearts."

Lexa scoffed.  "Hardly.  There wasn't exactly a plethora of sapphically inclined girls at Beaver Brae Secondary School."

Clarke choked on a laugh. "That wasn't the name of your high school, was it?"

"It was, indeed.  Our mascot, somewhat incredibly, was the Bronco."

"Wait," Clarke raised one eyebrow.  "Your high school was named Beaver Brae, but your mascot was a horse?"

Lexa shrugged.  "It's Canada. We try to avoid redundancy by not doubling down on beaver themed everything."

"Anyway," the brunette smirked, tracing the edge of the dimple that appeared in Clarke's cheek each time she smiled.  "There were a few curious girls at a handful of parties, but I was hardly breaking anyone's heart.  Most people didn't come out until after high school."

Clarke raised her eyebrows inquisitively.  "Was it hard being out where you grew up?"

Lexa's brow furrowed in thought, her mouth puckering to side as she considered the question.  "Maybe a little," she shrugged.  "I mean, Canadians don't care that much about gay stuff.  Mostly, Kenora was just small.  There weren't that many of us.  Not much point in being out if there isn't anyone to date."  Lexa ran the tip of her finger over the helix of Clarke's ear, eliciting a soft moan from the blonde. "People knew though.  Nobody gave me too hard a time."

Clarke continued to savor the feeling of Lexa's touch as the brunette's fingers moved from the top of her ear to the soft skin of her neck.  She closed her eyes, relishing the way it made her spine tingle.

"What about you?"

Clarke's eyelids fluttered open.  She stared at the olive-skinned girl whose fingers were now tracing the lines of her ribs. "What about me?"

"What were you like in high school?"

"Focused." Clarke rolled her eyes, thinking back to life in her tiny Minnesotan town.  "I had a boyfriend for about six months during my sophomore year, but he took too much time away from hockey.  "Plus," Clarke made a face remembering the hardships of making out when two sets of braces were involved.  "He wasn't a very good kisser, so I ended things."

Lexa tried not to laugh.  "Poor guy.  He must have been devastated."

"Perhaps, but I'm sure Brock Larson managed to move on."  

Lexa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You high school boyfriend's name was Brock?"

"Yes, it was." Clarke laughed at the memory fo her first boyfriend, a tall, skinny young man with sandy blonde hair who had been the object of every sixteen-year-old girl's affection.  "My friends thought I was crazy to break up with him," she smiled.  "He made boy's varsity as a freshman and was related to Dave Christian on his mother's side."

"Dave who?"  Lexa cocked her head to the side, lost as to about who Clarke was talking.

"Dave Christian?"  Clarke waited for Lexa to recognize the name. "The Lake Placid Olympics? Miracle on Ice?  NHL player?"

Lexa shrugged.

"He is one of the eight Olympic hockey players who've come from my town."

"Damn!" Lexa's eyes went wide "Are you guys running a breeding program?"

"We have an algorithm," Clarke deadpanned.  "Anyway, dad got sick right after I broke up with Brock.  After he died, I kept to myself and concentrated on hockey. I had to focus on getting a scholarship.  I didn't exactly have time for romance."

"So not much has changed?"  Lexa grinned mischievously, squeezing Clarke's hip.

"Very funny."  Clarke shifted her weight, settling into Lexa's chest. She laced her fingers into the brunette's hair and began running her hand through the mess of wavy curls.  "I almost had a girlfriend in college, but it didn't work out."

Lexa savored the feeling of Clarke's fingers as they massaged her scalp. "Why not?"  

"It's complicated."  Clarke continued to work her fingers through the tangles in Lexa's hair.  "People knew I was bisexual at college, but not at home.  She wanted to date openly, and that was more than I could handle at the time."

"And now? "

Clarke sighed.  "I think people back home suspect, but they've stopped asking.  Besides, I've been so focused on the game for the last ten years that I've barely had time for myself, let alone anyone else."

"That sounds familiar."  Lexa pulled Clarke closer. She enjoyed the feeling of the warm body pressed against her and thought of the many long nights she’d spent on the road, curled up in bed alone in a dingy hotel room.  "It would be nice though."

"Hmm?"  Clarke's hand stilled.

"To have someone."  The goalie stroked the small of Clarke's back with the blade of her thumb, leaving goosebumps along her skin.

Clarke closed her eyes, imagining for a brief moment a life where obligations didn't bind her to team and county.  "It would be," she smiled sadly, "but I owe too much to my team to lose focus right now."

Lexa nodded, trying not to feel disappointed at Clarke's response.  "Well..."  She leaned in, kissing the top of Clarke's head absentmindedly.  "Maybe, one day, you and I will owe nothing more to our teams."

The blonde buried her face in the crook of Lexa's neck, inhaling the scent of her.  "I hope so."

For a while longer they lay there, bodies enmeshed, minds close to sleep but never quite there.  Finally, Clarke groaned, the ache in her leg getting the better of her.  She pushed herself up on her elbows wincing as she pulled back the covers.  "I think I better try to stretch this thing if I want to play on it again."

Lexa bolted upright at the statement, utterly confused.  "I thought you said you were going to get it looked at?”

Clarke swung her legs over the far side of the bed, cautiously testing the amount of weight the injured limb could support.  She stood up, wincing a little as she transferred a bit of her balance onto it.  "I said I'd get it looked at if it didn’t feel better by today.  It feels better."

"It looks worse."

"It always looks worse when it's healing,” Clarke said, brushing off the Canadian’s concern. She began hobbling towards the bathroom, and Lexa jumped up behind her, ready to catch her the moment the leg buckled.  Remarkably the blonde managed to bear weight on it, limping into the bathroom on her own to retrieve the bottle of Motrin.  She shuffled back towards the bed slowly and lowered herself onto the mattress with great effort.

"Lexa, it's a bad bruise.  I'll be fine after some rest and ice.  Besides, we don't have a game for two more days."

"Clarke..."

"Lexa, I'm fine."  She swallowed several pills and scooted back on the bed, stretching the leg out in front of her as she reached for her toes.  Carefully she bent forward, tensing her jaw as she began stretching the tender muscles.

"But..."

"I'm fine!"  The words came out through clenched teeth, though Clarke managed to smile through the pain.  "I promise."

Unsure of how to proceed, Lexa hung stiffly in front of the bed.  She stared down awkwardly at the frustratingly determined captain, racking her brain for a solution.  Thankfully, Clarke offered her one.

"Look, if you're that worried, we can meet up tonight.  That way you can check on me."

"Meet up?"

"Yes, for drinks, maybe food,”  Clarke smirked, as though Lexa had just missed the most obvious implication in the world. 

"Food?"  Lexa's eyebrows nearly shot up to the top of her head when she realized what Clarke was suggesting.  "Like, in front of other people?'

"Unless you'd like to meet in secret."  Clarke grimaced, continuing to stretch her stiff and bruised leg.  "Or do you not want to meet at all?"

"No!"  Lexa bit her lip, blushing at her outburst.  "I mean, yes, I do. I'd like that."

Clarke rolled her eyes at the sudden ineptitude of the usually cocky girl, relishing the effect her invitation was having on her.  "Ok, but let's meet off campus. " Clarke massaged her thigh, trying to work out the stiffness in the muscles.  "Some of the girls went out into the city the other night.  They said the Budnamu Brewery was great.  Would 7 pm be alright?"

"I... Yeah, of course."

“Good, then it's a date."

"A date?"

"Yes, a date." Clarke deadpanned. "I mean, it's been a while, but I'm pretty sure the kids still call it that."

"It's a date," Lexa nodded dumbly, stunned that Clarke was asking her out, and in public no less.

"I should shower." Clarke struggled to her feet and cast a furtive glance at the bathroom door.

"You should shower."  Lexa's head wagged up and down, too dumbfounded to pay much attention to what Clarke was saying.

"Lexa...?"

The goalie looked up, snapping back to reality.  "Oh, Right!"  She cleared her throat, trying not to turn red.  "You shower.  I should go."  Lexa grabbed her sweatshirt from the chair in the corner, hurriedly pulling it on over her head as she mussed out her wild mane and shoved her feet into the boots that lay haphazardly by the bed.

"7 pm at Budnamu Brewery?

Clarke nodded.

"And you promise to get your leg look at if it starts bothering you?"

Clarke nodded.

“Ok.  I’ll see you at seven."

Lexa turned to leave but was stopped by a small hand grabbing her elbow.

"Wait."  Clarke bit her lip nervously, hesitating.  Slowly, she leaned up on the tiptoes of her uninjured leg and pressed her lips to the corner of Lexa's mouth, delivering a soft kiss.

"Thank you for staying."

* * *

Lexa was in a daze as she drifted down the hallway and boarded the waiting elevator, nearly forgetting to press the button for the first floor.  Clarke had asked her on a date.  It felt almost too good to be true, and yet it had happened.  Lexa had the text confirming the details on her phone.  She could barely contain the smile on her face as she floated through the elevator doors and into the cavernous lobby of the dormitory.  Nothing in the world could bring her down at the moment. 

"Lexa Woods?”

Nothing, except for the sound of her name coming from the stern looking man in the dark grey suit.  He approached her from the cafeteria, and out of the corner of her eye Lexa watched as Raven slipped away, apparently having just finished a conversation with him.  The man held his hand out for her.   "Marcus Kane.  I'm the head coach of Team USA Women's hockey."

Lexa took his hand and shook it firmly.  "Nice to meet you, Sir."

He smiled politely, his appearance losing some of its gruffness.  "May I speak with you a moment?" He gestured to a small lounge just off the entrance to the main lobby.

Reluctantly, she agreed, following him to a suite of armchairs tucked in the back.  The goalie took a seat across from him, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her ears as he watched her.

"So," he began earnestly. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude.  I hear you cared for an injured player of mine last night, Clarke Griffin."

Lexa nodded apprehensively.  “I did."

Kane looked solemn as he contemplated the young women across from him.  "I understand that you two have been spending some time together.  Am I correct in that understanding?"

Lexa nodded again, her pulse racing as she worried about the direction in which their conversation seemed to be headed.  "That's correct, Sir."

He furrowed his brow, his expression grave.  "Miss Woods, given your respective positions on opposing teams, you understand that the two of you spending time together could be construed as…” Kane searched carefully for the right word.  “Inappropriate?”

“Yes.”

Kane purses his lips for a moment, analyzing her answer skeptically.  Finally, his expression softened.  "Luckily I considered Miss Griffin's integrity to be unimpeachable.  However, should the two of you choose to continue to see each other socially, I would advise you to proceed with the utmost discretion.”

Lexa nodded vigorously.  "I understand, Sir."

"Good then." Appearing satisfied, Kane patted the armrest absentmindedly. "In that case, Miss Woods, I only need to ask one more thing of you."

Lexa swallowed, dreading his next question.

"What's that, Sir?"

"I need to tell me whether or not my team Captain is hiding an injury from me."

Lexa's heart nearly jumped out of her chest.  It sounded like a bass drum, thumping in her ears and drowning out the hum of the lobby around them.

"I... I don't."

"The truth, Miss Woods."

At that moment Lexa's conscience was entirely at war with itself.  Lie, and she put Clarke at risk, or tell the truth and betray her trust.  Neither one was an attractive option, and she shifted nervously in her seat, unwilling to choose either.

"Lexa..."

She sighed, resigning herself to the lesser of two evil.  Surely, Clarke couldn't fault her for being concerned.

"She says it's fine but, it looks pretty bad.  She can walk on it a little but.…” She bit her lip nervously.  "I think she's probably fine," she back peddled, attempted to reassure him. “Maybe she should have a doctor look at it though, just to be safe."

Kane smiled at her, smoothing out the wrinkles in his pant legs as he rose.  "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Woods."

With that, he started towards the elevators, leaving Lexa to dread her decision.

Next Chapter ->

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